LORRAINE 


•Romance 


BY 


ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

AUTHOR  OF 
44  THB  KING  IN  YELLOW  "  "  THE  RED  REPUBLIC  "  KTO. 


NEW  YORK   AND  LONDON 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BuoTfnma 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


•ro 
MY    FATHEB 


527257 


' 


LORRAINE ! 

When  Yesterday  shall  dawn  again, 
And  the  long  line  athwart  the  hill 
Shall  quicken  with  the  bugle's  thrill, 
Thine  own  shall  come  to  thee,  Lorraine  f 

Then  in  each  vineyard,  vale,  and  plain. 
The  quiet  dead  shall  stir  the  earth 
And  rise,  reborn,  in  thy  new  birth — 
Thou  holy  martyr-maid,  Lorraine  f 

Is  it  in  vain  thy  sweet  tears  stain 
Tfiy  mother's  breast  ?     Her  castled  crest 
Is  lifted  now  f     God  guide  her  quest  f 
She  seeks  thine  own  for  thee,  Lorraine  I 

So  Yesterday  shall  live  again, 
Attd  the  steel  line  along  the  Rhine 
Shall  cuirass  thee  and  all  that's  thine. 
France  lives — thy  France — divine  Lorraine/ 

R.  W.  C. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBR  PAOB 

I.  A  MAKER  OP  MAPS 1 

II.  TELEGRAMS  FOR  Two 11 

III.  SUMMER  THUNDER 20 

IV.  THE  FARANDOLE 30 

V.  COWARDS  AND  THEIR  COURAGE 39 

VI.  TRAINS  EAST  AND  WEST 51 

VII.  THE  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 59 

VIII.  UNDER  THE  YOKE 63 

IX.  SAARBRUCK 79 

X.  AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER 95 

XI.  "KEEP  THY  FAITH" 102 

XII.  FROM  THE  FRONTIER  . 116 

XIII.  AIDE-DE-CAMP 131 

XIV.  THE  MARQUIS  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE  .    .  139 
XV.  THE  INVASION  OF  LORRAINE 157 

XVI.  "!N  THE  HOLLOW  OF  THY  HAND" 171 

XVII.  THE  KEEPERS  OF  THE  HOUSE 179 

XVIII.  THE  STRETCHING  OF  NECKS 190 

XIX.  RICKERL'S  SABRE 205 

XX.  SIR  THORALD  is  SILENT 213 

XXI.  THE  WHITE  CROSS 226 

XXII.  A  DOOR  is  LOCKED .239 

XXIII.  LORRAINE  SLEEPS  ,    .  .,.,,$# 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTBB  PAO» 

XXIV.  LORRAINE  AWAKES 268 

XXV.  PRINCESS  IMPERIAL 270 

XXVI.  THE  SHADOW  OF  POMP 278 

XXVII.  (JA  IRA  !  .     .    . 285 

XXVIII.  THE  BRACONNIER 297 

XXIX.  THE  MESSAGE  OP  THE  FLAG 306 

XXX.  THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  SHADOW 324 

XXXI.  THE  PROPHECY  OP  LORRAINE   .  334 


LORRAINE 


LORRAINE 


A   MAKER   OF   MAPS 

THERE  was  a  rustle  in  the  bushes,  the  sound  of 
iwigs  snapping,  a  soft  foot-fall  on  the  dead  leaves. 

Marche  stopped,  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  listened. 

Patter  !  patter  !  patter !  over  the  crackling  under 
brush,  now  near,  now  far  away  in  the  depths  of  the 
forest ;  then  sudden  silence,  the  silence  that  startles. 

He  turned  his  head  warily,  right,  left;  he  knelt 
noiselessly,  striving  to  pierce  the  thicket  with  his 
restless  eyes.  After  a  moment  he  arose  on  tiptoe, 
unslung  his  gun,  cocked  both  barrels,  and  listened 
again,  pipe  tightly  clutched  between  his  white  teeth. 

All  around  lay  the  beautiful  Lorraine  forests,  dim 
and  sweet,  dusky  as  velvet  in  their  leafy  depths.  A 
single  sunbeam,  striking  obliquely  through  the  brush 
tangle,  powdered  the  forest  mould  with  gold. 

He  heard  the  little  river  Lisse,  flowing,  flowing, 
where  green  branches  swept  its  placid  surface  with  a 
thousand  new-born  leaves ;  he  heard  a  throstle  sing 
ing  in  the  summer  wind. 


2  LORRAINE  ! 

Suddenly,  far  ahead,  something  gray  shambled 
loosely  across  the  path,  leaped  a  brush  heap,  slunlj 
under  a  fallen  tree,  and  loped  on  again. 

For  a  moment  Marche  refused  to  believe  his  own 
eyes.  A  wolf  in  Lorraine  !— a  big,  gray  timber- wolf, 
here,  within  a  mile  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn !  He 
could  see  it  yet,  passing  like  a  shadow  among  the 
trees.  Before  he  knew  it  he  was  following,  running 
noiselessly  over  the  soft,  mossy  path,  holding  his 
little  shot-gun  tightly.  As  he  ran,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  spot  where  the  wolf  had  disappeared,  he  began 
to  doubt  his  senses  again,  he  began  to  believe  that 
the  thing  he  saw  was  some  shaggy  sheep-dog  from 
the  Moselle,  astray  in  the  Lorraine  forests.  But  he 
held  his  pace,  his  pipe  griped  in  his  teeth,  his  gun 
swinging  at  his  side.  Presently,  as  he  turned  into  a 
grass-grown  carrefour,  a  mere  waste  of  wild-flowers 
and  tangled  briers,  he  caught  his  ankle  in  a  strand  of 
ivy  and  fell  headlong.  Sprawling  there  on  the  moss 
and  dead  leaves,  the  sound  of  human  voices  struck 
his  ear,  and  he  sat  up,  scowling  and  rubbing  his 
knees. 

The  voices  came  nearer  ;  two  people  were  approach 
ing  the  carrefour.  Jack  Marche,  angry  and  dirty, 
looked  through  the  bushes,  stanching  a  long  scratch 
on  his  wrist  with  his  pocket-handkerchief.  The 
people  were  in  sight  now — a  man,  tall,  square-shoul 
dered,  striding  swiftly  through  the  woods,  followed  by 
a  young  girl.  Twice  she  sprang  forward  and  seized 
him  by  the  arm,  but  he  shook  her  off  roughly  and 
hastened  on.  As  they  entered  the  carrefour,  the 
girl  ran  in  front  of  him  and  pushed  him  back  with 
all  her  strength. 


A  MAKES  Off  HAPS  8 

"  Come,  now/'  said  the  man,  recovering  his  balance, 
"you  had  better  stop  this  before  I  lose  patience.  Go 
back  r 

The  girl  barred  his  way  with  slender  arms  out 
stretched. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  my  woods?"  she  demanded. 
"  Answer  me  !  I  will  know,  this  time  !" 

"  Let  me  pass  I"  sneered  the  man.  He  held  a  roll 
of  papers  in  one  hand ;  in  the  other,  steel  compasses 
that  glittered  in  the  snn. 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  pass  I"  she  said,  desperately ; 
"you  shall  not  pass  !  I  wish  to  know  what  it  means, 
why  you  and  the  others  come  into  my  woods  and 
make  maps  of  every  path,  of  every  brook,  of  every 
bridge — yes,  of  every  wall  and  tree  and  rock  !  I  have 
seen  you  before — you  and  the  others.  You  are 
strangers  in  my  country  I" 

"  Get  out  of  my  path,"  said  the  man,  sullenly. 

"  Then  give  me  that  map  you  have  made  !  I  know 
what  you  are  !  You  come  from  across  the  Rhine  !" 

The  man  scowled  and  stepped  towards  her. 

"  You  are  a  German  spy  \"  she  cried,  passionately. 

"  You  little  fool  I"  he  snarled,  seizing  her  arm. 
He  shook  her  brutally  ;  the  scarlet  skirts  fluttered,  a 
little  rent  came  in  the  velvet  bodice,  the  heavy,  shin 
ing  hair  tumbled  down  over  her  eyes. 

In  a  moment  Marche  had  the  man  by  the  throat. 
He  held  him  there,  striking  him  again  and  again  in 
the  face.  Twice  the  man  tried  to  stab  him  with  the 
steel  compasses,  but  Marche  dragged  them  out  of  his 
fist  and  hammered  him  until  he  choked  and  splut 
tered  and  collapsed  on  the  ground,  only  to  stagger  to 
his  feet  again  and  lurch  into  the  thicket  of  second 


4  LORRAINE ! 

growth.  There  he  tripped  and  fell  as  Marche  had 
fallen  on  the  ivy,  but,  unlike  Marche,  he  wriggled 
under  the  bushes  and  ran  on,  stooping  low,  never 
glancing  back. 

The  impulse  that  comes  to  men  to  shoot  when  any 
thing  is  running  for  safety  came  over  Marche  for  an 
instant.  Instinctively  he  raised  his  gun,  hesitated, 
lowered  it,  still  watching  the  running  man  with  cold, 
bright  eyes. 

"Well,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  girl  behind  him, 
"  he's  gone  now.  Ought  I  to  have  fired  ?  Ma  foi ! 
I'm  sorry  I  didn't !  He  has  torn  your  bodice  and 
your  skirt !" 

The  girl  stood  breathless,  cheeks  aflame,  burnished 
tangled  hair  shadowing  her  eyes. 

"  We  have  the  map,"  she  said,  with  a  little  gasp. 

Marche  picked  up  a  crumpled  roll  of  paper  from 
the  ground  and  opened  it.  It  contained  a  rough 
topographical  sketch  of  the  surrounding  country,  a 
detail  of  a  dozen  small  forest  paths,  a  map  of  the 
whole  course  of  the  river  Lisse  from  its  source  to  its 
junction  with  the  Moselle,  and  a  beautiful  plan  of 
the  Chateau  de  Nesville. 

"  That  is  my  house  !"  said  the  girl ;  "he  has  a 
map  of  my  house  !  How  dare  he  I" 

"  The  Chateau  de  Nesville  ?"  asked  Marche,  aston 
ished  ;  "are  you  Lorraine?" 

"  Yes  !    Fin  Lorraine.     Didn't  you  know  it  ?" 

' '  Lorraine  de  Nesville  ?"  he  repeated,  curiously. 

"  Yes !  How  dares  that  German  to  come  into  my 
woods  and  make  maps  and  carry  them  back  across 
the  Rhine  !  I  have  seen  him  before — twice — drawing 
and  measuring  along  the  park  wall.  I  told  my  father, 


A  MAKER  OF  MAPS  5 

but  he  thinks  only  of  his  balloons.  I  have  seen  others, 
too — other  strange  men  in  the  chase — always  measur 
ing  or  staring  about  or  drawing.  Why  ?  What  do 
Germans  want  of  maps  of  France  ?  I  thought  of  it 
all  day — every  day ;  I  watched,  I  listened  in  the  forest. 
And  do  you  know  what  I  think  ?" 

"  What  ?"  asked  Marche. 

She  pushed  back  her  splendid  hair  and  faced  him. 

"  War  !"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

' '  War  ?"  he  repeated,  stupidly.  She  stretched  out 
an  arm  towards  the  east ;  then,  with  a  passionate  gest 
ure,  she  stepped  to  his  side. 

"  War  !  Yes  !  War  !  War  !  War  !  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  know  it — I  ask  myself  how — and  to  myself 
I  answer  :  '  It  is  coming  !  I,  Lorraine,  know  it !' " 

A  fierce  light  flashed  from  her  eyes,  blue  as  corn 
flowers  in  July. 

"It  is  in  dreams  I  see  and  hear  now — in  dreams; 
and  I  see  the  vineyards  black  with  helmets,  and  the 
Moselle  redder  than  the  setting  sun,  and  over  all  the 
land  of  France  I  see  bayonets,  moving,  moving,  like 
the  Rhine  in  flood  !" 

The  light  in  her  eyes  died  out ;  she  straightened 
up  ;  her  lithe  young  body  trembled. 

"  I  have  never  before  told  this  to  any  one,"  she  said, 
faintly ;  "  my  father  does  not  listen  when  I  speak. 
You  are  Jack  Marche,  are  you  not  ?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  stood  awkwardly,  folding 
and  unfolding  the  crumpled  maps. 

"You  are  the  vicomte's  nephew  —  a  guest  at  the 
Chateau  Morteyn  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes/'  said  Marche. 

"  Then  you  are  Monsieur  Jack  Marche  ?" 


6  LOBEAINE  ! 

He  took  off  his  shooting- cap  and  laughed  frankly. 
"  Yon  find  me  carrying  a  gun  on  your  grounds,"  he 
said  ;  "  I'm  sure  you  take  me  for  a  poacher." 

She  glanced  at  his  leggings. 

"Now,"  he  began,  " I  ask  permission  to  explain;  I 
am  afraid  that  you  will  be  inclined  to  doubt  my  ex 
planation.  I  almost  doubt  it  myself,  but  here  it  is. 
Do  you  know  that  there  are  wolves  in  these  woods  ?" 

"Wolves  ?"  she  repeated,  horrified. 

"  I  saw  one ;  I  followed  it  to  this  carrefour." 

She  leaned  against  a  tree ;  her  hands  fell  to  her 
sides. 

There  was  a  silence  ;  then  she  said,  "  You  will  not 
believe  what  I  am  going  to  say — you  will  call  it  super 
stition — perhaps  stupidity.  But  do  you  know  that 
wolves  have  never  appeared  along  the  Moselle  except 
before  a  battle  ?  Seventy  years  ago  they  were  seen 
before  the  battle  of  Colmar.  That  was  the  last  time. 
And  now  they  appear  again." 

"I  may  have  been  mistaken,"  he  said,  hastily; 
"  those  shaggy  sheep-dogs  from  the  Moselle  are  very 
much  like  timber-wolves  in  color.  Tell  me,  Made 
moiselle  de  JSTesville,  why  should  you  believe  that  we 
are  going  to  have  a  war  ?  Two  weeks  ago  the  Empei> 
or  spoke  of  the  perfect  tranquillity  of  Europe."  He 
smiled  and  added,  "France  seeks  no  quarrels.  Be 
cause  a  brute  of  a  German  comes  sneaking  into  these 
woods  to  satisfy  his  national  thirst  for  prying,  I  don't 
see  why  war  should  result." 

"War  did  result,"  she  said,  smiling  also,  and  glan 
cing  at  his  torn  shooting-coat ;  "I  haven't  even  thank 
ed  you  yet,  Monsieur  Marche — for  your  victory." 

With  a  sudden  gesture,  proud,  yet  half  shy,  she 


A  MAKER  OP  MAPS  7 

held  out  one  hand,  and  he  took  it  in  his  own  hands, 
bronzed  and  brier  scratched. 

"I  thought/'  she  said,  withdrawing  her  fingers, 
' '  that  I  ought  to  give  you  an  American  '  shake  hands.' 
I  suppose  you  are  wondering  why  we  haven't  met  be 
fore.  There  are  reasons." 

She  looked  down  at  her  scarlet  skirt,  touched  a  tri 
angular  tear  in  it,  and,  partly  turning  her  head, 
raised  her  arms  and  twisted  the  tangled  hair  into  a 
heavy  burnished  knot  at  her  neck. 

"You  wear  the  costume  of  Lorraine,"  he  vent 
ured. 

"  Is  it  not  pretty  ?  I  love  it.  Alone  in  the  house 
I  always  wear  it,  the  scarlet  skirts  banded  with  black, 
the  velvet  bodice  and  silver  chains — oh  !  he  has  bro 
ken  my  chain,  too  !" 

He  leaned  on  his  gun,  watching  her,  fascinated  with 
the  grace  of  her  white  fingers  twisting  her  hair. 

"  To  think  that  you  should  have  first  seen  me  so  ! 
What  will  they  say  at  the  Chateau  Morteyn  ?" 

"  But  I  shall  tell  nobody,"  laughed  Marche. 

"  Then  you  are  very  honourable,  and  I  thank  you. 
Mon  Dieu,  they  talk  enough  about  me  —  you  have 
heard  them — do  not  deny  it.,  Monsieur  Marche.  It  is 
always,  '  Lorraine  did  this,  Lorraine  did  that,  Lor 
raine  is  shocking,  Lorraine  is  silly,  Lorraine — '  0 
Dieu  !  que  sais'je  !  Poor  Lorraine  I" 

"Poor  Lorraine!"  he  repeated,  solemnly.  They 
both  laughed  outright. 

"I  know  all  about  the  house-party  at  the  Chateau 
Morteyn,"  she  resumed,  mending  a  tear  in  her  velvet 
bodice  with  a  hair-pin.  "I  was  invited,  as  you  profc- 
know,  Monsieur  Marche ;  but  I  did  not  go,  aucj 


8  LORRAINE  ! 

doubtless  the  old  vicomte  is  saying,  (l  wonder  why 
Lorraine  does  not  come  ?'  and  Madame  de  Morteyn 
replies,  '  Lorraine  is  a  very  uncertain  quantity,  my 
dear' — oh,  I  am  sure  that  they  are  saying  these 
things." 

"  I  think  I  heard  some  such  dialogue  yesterday,"  said 
Marche,  much  amused.  Lorraine  raised  her  head  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  You  think  I  am  a  crazy  child  in  tatters,  neglected 
and  wild  as  a  falcon  from  the  Vosges.  I  know  you 
do.  Everybody  says  so,  and  everybody  pities  me  and 
my  father.  Why  ?  Parbleu  !  he  makes  experiments 
with  air-ships  that  they  don't  understand.  Voila  ! 
As  for  me,  I  am  more  than  happy.  I  have  my  forest 
and  my  fields ;  I  have  my  horses  and  my  books.  I 
dress  as  I  choose  ;  I  go  where  I  choose.  Am  I  not 
happy,  Monsieur  Marche  ?" 

" I  should  say,"  he  admitted,  "that  you  are." 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  with  a  pretty,  confi 
dential  nod,  "I  can  talk  to  you  because  you  are  the 
"icomte's  American  nephew,  and  I  have  heard  all 
about  you  and  your  lovely  sister,  and  it  is  all  right — 
isn't  it  ?" 

"  It  is,"  said  Marche,  fervently. 

"  Of  course.  Now  I  shall  tell  you  why  I  did  not 
go  to  the  Chateau  and  meet  your  sister  and  the  others. 
Perhaps  you  will  not  comprehend.  Shall  I  tell  you  ?" 

"  I'll  try  to  comprehend,"  said  Marche,  laughing. 

"Well,  then,  would  you  believe  it?  I — Lorraine  de 
Nesville — have  outgrown  my  clothes,  monsieur,  and 
my  beautiful  new  gowns  are  coming  from  Paris  this 
week,  and  then — " 

"  Then  !"  repeated  Marche. 


A  MAKER  OF  MAPS 

"Then  you  shall  see,"  said  Lorraine,  gravely. 

Jack,  bewildered,  fascinated,  stood  leaning  on  his 
gun,  watching  every  movement  of  the  lithe  figure  be 
fore  him. 

"Until  your  gowns  arrive,  I  shall  not  see  yon 
again  ?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  ?" 

"  Very  much  \"  he  blurted  out,  and  then,  aware 
of  the  undue  fervor  he  had  shown,  repeated :  "  Very 
much — if  you  don't  mind,"  in  a  subdued  but  anxious 
voice. 

Again  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  doubtfully,  per 
haps  a  little  wistfully. 

"It  wouldn't  be  right,  would  it — until  you  are 
presented  ?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  Still,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  the  sky,  "I  often 
come  to  the  river  below,  usually  after  luncheon." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  are  any  gudgeon  there  ?"  he 
said  ;  "  I  could  bring  a  rod-—" 

"Oh,  but  are  you  coming?  Is  that  right?  I 
think  there  are  fish  there,"  she  added,  innocently, 
"and  I  usually  come  after  luncheon." 

"And  when  your  gowns  arrive  from  Paris — " 

"Then  !  Then  you  shall  see  !  Oh  !  I  shall  be  a 
very  different  person  ;  I  shall  be  timid  and  silent  and 
stupid  and  awkward,  and  I  shall  answer,  '  Oui,  mon 
sieur;'  '  Non,  monsieur/  and  you  will  behold  in  me  the 
jeune  fille  of  the  romances." 

"  Don't !"  he  protested. 

"I  shall !"  she  cried,  shaking  out  her  scarlet  skirts 
full  breadth.  "  Good-by  !" 


10  LORRAINE  1 

In  a  second  she  had  gone,  straight  away  through 
the  forest,  leaving  in  his  ears  the  music  of  her  voice, 
on  his  finger-tips  the  touch  of  her  warm  hand. 

He  stood,  leaning  on  his  gun — a  minute,  an  hour  ? 
— he  did  not  know. 

Presently  earthly  sounds  hegan  to  come  back  to 
drown  the  delicious  voice  in  his  ears ;  he  heard 
the  little  river  Lisse,  flowing,  flowing  under  green 
branches;  he  heard  a  throstle  singing  in  the  sum 
mer  wind  ;  he  heard,  far  in  the  deeper  forest,  some 
thing  passing — patter,  patter,  patter — over  the  dead 
leaves. 


II 

TELEGRAMS   FOR   TWO 

JACK  MARCHE  tucked  his  gun  under  his  arm  and 
turned  away  along  the  overgrown  wood -road  that 
stretched  from  the  De  Nesville  forests  to  the  more 
open  woods  of  Morteyn. 

He  walked  slowly,  puffing  his  pipe,  pondering  over 
his  encounter  with  the  chatelaine  of  the  Chateau  de 
Nesville.  He  thought,  too,  of  the  old  Vicomte  de 
Morteyn  and  his  gentle  wife,  of  the  little  house-party 
of  which  he  and  his  sister  Dorothy  made  two,  of  Sir 
Thorald  and  Lady  Hesketh,  their  youthful  and  to 
tally  irresponsible  chaperons  on  the  journey  from 
Paris  to  Morteyn. 

"They're  lunching  on  the  Lisse,"  he  thought. 
"Ill  not  get  a  bite  if  Ricky  is  there." 

When  Madame  de  Morteyn  wrote  to  Sir  Thorald 
and  Lady  Hesketh  on  the  first  of  July,  she  asked 
them  to  chaperon  her  two  nieces  and  some  other  pretty 
girls  in  the  American  colony  whom  they  might  wish 
to  bring,  for  a  month,  to  Morteyn. 

"The  devil  I"  said  Sir  Thorald  when  he  read  the 
letter  ;  "  am  I  to  pick  out  the  girls,  Molly  ?" 

"  Betty  and  I  will  select  the  men,"  said  Lady  Hes 
keth,  sweetly;  "you  may  do  as  you  please." 

He  did.     He  suggested  a  great  many,  and  wrote 


12  LORRAINE  ! 

a  list  for  his  wife.  That  prudent  young  woman 
carefully  crossed  out  every  name,  saying,  "  Thorald  ! 
I  am  ashamed  of  you  I"  and  substituted  another  list. 
She  had  chosen,  besides  Dorothy  Marche  and  Bet 
ty  Castlemaine,  the  two  nieces  in  question,  Barbara 
Lisle  and  her  inseparable  little  German  friend,  Alixe 
von  Elster ;  also  the  latter's  brother,  Rickerl,  or 
Ricky,  as  he  was  called  in  diplomatic  circles.  She 
closed  the  list  with  Cecil  Page,  because  she  knew 
that  Betty  Castlemaine,  Madame  de  Morteyn's  younger 
niece,  looked  kindly,  at  times,  upon  this  blond  giant. 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  whole  party  invaded 
three  first-class  compartments  of  an  east-bound  train 
at  the  Gare  de  FEst,  and  twenty-two  hours  later  were 
trooping  up  the  terrace  steps  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn, 
here  in  the  forests  and  fragrant  meadows  of  Lorraine. 

Madame  de  Morteyn  kissed  all  the  girls  on  both 
cheeks,  and  the  old  vicomte  embraced  his  nieces, 
Betty  Castlemaine  and  Dorothy  Marche,  and  threat 
ened  to  kiss  the  others,  including  Molly  Hesketh. 
He  desisted,  he  assured  them,  only  because  he  feared 
Sir  Thorald  might  feel  bound  to  follow  his  example  ; 
to  which  Lady  Hesketh  replied  that  she  didn't  care 
and  smiled  at  the  vicomte. 

The  days  had  flown  very  swiftly  for  all :  Jack 
Marche  taught  Barbara  Lisle  to  fish  for  gudgeon; 
Betty  Castlemaine  tormented  Cecil  Page  to  his  in 
finitely  miserable  delight ;  Ricky  von  Elster  made 
tender  eyes  at  Dorothy  Marche  and  rowed  her  up  and 
down  the  Lisse  ;  and  his  sister  Alixe  read  sentimental 
verses  under  the  beech-trees  and  sighed  for  the  sweet 
mysteries  that  young  German  girls  sigh  for — heart- 
friendships,  lovers,  Ewiglceit  —  God  knows  what! — 


TELEGRAMS  FOR  TWO  13 

something  or  other  that  turns  the  heart  to  tears 
until  everything  slops  over  and  the  very  heavens 
sob. 

They  were  happy  enough  together  in  the  Chateau 
and  out  -  of  -  doors.  Little  incidents  occurred  that 
might  as  well  not  have  occurred,  but  apparently  no 
scars  were  left  nor  any  incurable  pang.  True,  Molly 
Hesketh  made  eyes  at  Ricky  von  Elster  ;  but  she  re 
proved  him  bitterly  when  he  kissed  her  hand  in  the 
orangery  one  evening ;  true  also  that  Sir  Thorald 
whispered  airy  nothings  into  the  shell  -  like  ear  of 
Alixe  von  Elster  until  that  German  maiden  could 
not  have  repeated  her  German  alphabet.  But,  ex 
cept  for  the  chaperons,  the  unmarried  people  did 
well  enough,  as  unmarried  people  usually  do  when 
let  alone. 

So,  on  that  cloudless  day  of  July,  1870,  Rickerl 
von  Elster  sat  in  the  green  row-boat  and  tugged  at 
the  oars  while  Sir  Thorald  smoked  a  cigar  placidly 
and  Lady  Hesketh  trailed  her  pointed  fingers  over 
the  surface  of  the  water. 

"Ricky,  my  son,"  said  Sir  Thorald,  "you  probably 
gallop  better  than  you  row.  Who  ever  heard  of  an 
Uhlan  in  a  boat  ?  Molly,  take  his  oars  away." 

"  Ricky  shall  row  me  if  he  wishes,"  replied  Molly 
Hesketh  ;  "  and  you  do,  don't  you,  Ricky  ?  Thorald 
will  set  you  on  shore  if  you  want." 

"  I  have  no  confidence  in  Uhlan  officers,"  said  her 
spouse,  darkly. 

Rickerl  looked  pleased ;  perspiration  stood  on  his 
blond  eyebrows  and  his  broad  face  glowed. 

"  As  an  officer  of  cavalry  in  the  Prussian  army," 
he  said,  "and  as  an  attache*  of  the  German  Embassy 


14  LORRAINE  ? 

in  Paris,  I  suggest  that  we  return  to  first  principles 
and  rejoin  our  base  of  supplies." 

"  He's  thirsty/'  said  Molly,  gravely.  "The  base  of 
supplies,  so  long  cut  loose  from,  is  there  under  the 
willows,  and  I  see  six  feet  two  of  Cecil  Page  carrying 
a  case  of  bottles." 

"  Row,  Ricky  !"  urged  Sir  Thorald ;  "  they  will  leave 
nothing  for  Uhlan  foragers  I" 

The  boat  rubbed  its  nose  against  the  mossy  bank ; 
Lady  Hesketh  placed  her  fair  hands  in  Ricky's  chubby 
ones  and  sprang  to  the  shore. 

"  Cecil  Page/'  she  said,  "  I  am  thirsty.  Where  are 
the  others  ?" 

Betty  and  Dorothy  looked  out  from  their  seat  in 
the  tall  grass. 

"  Charles  brought  the  hamper ;  there  it  is/'  said 
Cecil. 

Barbara  Lisle  and  sentimental  little  Alixe  von  El- 
ster  strolled  up  and  looked  lovingly  upon  the  sand 
wiches. 

Cecil  Page  stood  and  sulked,  until  Dorothy  took 
pity  and  made  room  on  the  moss  beside  her. 

"  Can't  you  have  a  little  mercy,  Betty  ?"  she  whis 
pered;  "  Cecil  moons  like  a  wounded  elephant." 

So  Betty  smiled  at  him  and  asked  for  more  salad, 
and  Cecil  brought  it  and  basked  in  her  smiles. 

"  Where  is  Jack  Marche  ?"  asked  Molly  Hesketh. 
"  Dorothy,  your  brother  went  into  the  chase  with  a 
~nn,  and  where  is  he  ?" 

"  What  does  he  want  to  shoot  in  July  ?  It's  too 
late  for  rooks,"  said  Sir  Thorald,  pouring  out  cham 
pagne-cup  for  Barbara  Lisle. 

"I  don't  know  where  Jack  went,"  said  Dorothy. 


TELEGBAMS  FOB  TWO  15 

"  He  heard  one  of  the  keepers  complain  of  the  hawks, 
so,  I  suppose,  he  took  a  gun.  I  wonder  why  that 
strange  Lorraine  de  Nesville  doesn't  come  to  call.  I 
am  simply  dying  to  see  her." 

"I  saw  her  once,"  observed  Sir  Thorald. 

"You  generally  do,"  added  his  wife. 

"  What  r 

"See  what  others  don't." 

Sir  Thorald,  a  trifle  disconcerted,  applied  himself 
to  caviare  and,  later,  to  a  bottle  of  Moselle. 

"She's  a  beauty,  they  say — "  began  Ricky,  and 
might  have  continued  had  he  not  caught  the  danger- 
signal  in  Molly  Hesketh's  black  eyes. 

"Lorraine  de  Nesville,"  said  Lady  Hesketh,  "is 
only  a  child  of  seventeen.  Her  father  makes  balloons/' 

"Not  the  little,  red,  squeaky  kind,"  added  Sir  Tho 
rald;  "Molly,  he  is  an  amateur  aeronaut." 

"He'd  much  better  take  care  of  Lorraine.  The 
poor  child  runs  wild  all  over  the  country.  They  say 
she  rides  like  a  witch  on  a  broom — " 

"  Astride  ?"  cried  Sir  Thorald. 

"For  shame!"  said  his  wife;  "I — I  —  upon  my 
word,  I  have  heard  that  she  has  done  that,  too.  Ricky ! 
what  do  you  mean  by  yawning  ?" 

Ricky  had  been  listening,  mouth  open.  He  shut  it 
hurriedly  and  grew  pink  to  the  roots  of  his  colourless 
hair. 

Betty  Castlemaine  looked  at  Cecil,  and  Dorothy 
Marche  laughed. 

"What  of  it  ?"  she  said;  "there  is  nobody  here 
who  would  dare  to  !" 

"  Oh,  shocking  !"  said  little  Alixe,  and  tried  to  look 
as  though  she  meant  it. 


16  LORRAINE  ! 

At  that  moment  Sir  Thorald  caught  sight  of  Jack 
Marche,  strolling  up  through  the  trees,  gun  tucked 
under  his  left  arm. 

"No  luncheon,  no  salad,  no  champagne -cup,  no 
cigarette  I"  he  called  ;  "all  gone  !  all  gone  !  Molly's 
smoked  my  last — " 

"  Jack  Marche,  where  have  you  been  ?"  demanded 
Molly  Hesketh.  "  No,  you  needn't  dodge  my  accus 
ing  finger  !  Barbara,  look  at  him  !" 

"It's  a  pretty  finger  —  if  Sir  Thorald  will  permit 
me  to  say  so,"  said  Jack,  laughing  and  setting  his 
gun  up  against  a  tree.  "Dorrie,  didn't  you  save  any 
salad  ?  Ricky,  you  devouring  scourge,  there's  not  a 
bit  of  caviare  !  I'm  hungry —  Oh,  thanks,  Betty, 
you  did  think  of  the  prodigal,  didn't  you  ?" 

"  It  was  Cecil,"  she  said,  slyly ;  "  I  was  saving  it  for 
him.  What  did  you  shoot,  Jack  ?" 

"Now  you  people  listen  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
didn't  shoot." 

"A  poor  little  hawk  ?"  asked  Betty. 

"No— a  poor  little  wolf  !" 

In  the  midst  of  cries  of  astonishment  and  exclama 
tions  Sir  Thorald  arose,  waving  a  napkin. 

"I  knew  it!"  he  said — "I  knew  I  saw  a  wolf  in 
the  woods  day  before  yesterday,  but  I  didn't  dare  tell 
Molly  ;  she  never  believes  me." 

"  And  you  deliberately  chose  to  expose  us  to  the 
danger  of  being  eaten  alive  ?"  said  Lady  Hesketh,  in 
an  awful  voice.  "  Kicky,  I'm  going  to  get  into  that 
boat  at  once;  Dorothy  —  Betty  Castlemaine —  bring 
Alixe  and  Barbara  Lisle.  We  are  going  to  embark  at 
once." 

"  Eicky  and  his  boat-load  of  beauty,"  laughed  Sir 


TELEGRAMS  FOR  TWO  17 

Thorald.  "  Really,  Molly,  I  hesitated  to  tell  yon  be 
cause — I  was  afraid — " 

"  What,  yon  horrid  thing  ?  —  afraid  he'd  bite 
me  ?" 

<e  Afraid  you'd  bite  the  wolf,  my  dear,"  he  whis 
pered  so  that  nobody  but  she  heard  it;  "I  say, 
Ricky,  we  ought  to  have  a  wolf  drive  !  What  do  you 
think  r 

The  subject  started,  all  chimed  in  with  enthusiasm 
except  Alixe  von  Elster,  who  sat  with  big,  soulful  eyes 
fixed  on  Sir  Thorald  and  trembled  for  that  bad  young 
man's  precious  skin. 

"We  have  two  weeks  to  stay  yet,"  said  Cecil, 
glancing  involuntarily  at  Betty  Castlemaine  ;  "we 
can  get  up  a  drive  in  a  week." 

"  You  are  not  going,  Cecil,"  said  Betty,  in  a  low 
voice,  partly  to  practise  controlling  him,  partly  to  see 
him  blush. 

Lady  Hesketh,  however,  took  enough  interest  in 
the  sport  to  insist,  and  Jack  Marche  promised  to  see 
the  head-keeper  at  once. 

"I  think  I  see  him  now,"  said  Sir  Thorald—" no, 
it's  Bosquet's  boy  from  the  post-office.  Those  are 
telegrams  he's  got." 

The  little  postman's  son  came  trotting  across  the 
meadow,  waving  two  blue  envelopes. 

"Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Rickerl  von  Elster  and 
Monsieur  Jack  Marche — two  telegrams  this  instant 
from  Paris,  messieurs  !  I  salute  you."  And  he  took  off 
his  peaked  cap,  adding,  as  he  saw  the  others,  "Mes 
sieurs,  mesdames,"  and  nodded  his  curly,  blond  head 
and  smiled. 

"  Don't  apologize — read  your  telegrams  !"  said  Lady 


18  LOKKAJNE  I 

Hesketh  ;  "  dear  me  !  dear  me  !  if  they  take  yon  two 
away  and  leave  Thorald,  I  shall — I  shall  yawn  I" 

Ricky's  broad  face  changed  as  he  read  his  de 
spatch  ;  and  Molly  Hesketh,  shamelessly  peeping  over 
his  shoulder,  exclaimed,  "  It's  cipher  !  How  stupid  ! 
Can  you  understand  it,  Ricky  ?" 

Yes,  Rickerl  von  Elster  understood  it  well  enough. 
He  paled  a  little,  thrust  the  crumpled  telegram  into 
his  pocket,  and  looked  vaguely  at  the  circle  of  faces. 
After  a  moment  he  said,  standing  very  straight,  "I 
must  leave  to-morrow  morning." 

"Recalled?  Confound  your  ambassador,  Ricky!" 
said  Sir  Thorald.  "  Recalled  to  Paris  in  midsummer ! 
Well,  I'm—" 

"  Not  to  Paris,'"  said  Rickerl,  with  a  curious  catch  in 
his  voice — "to  Berlin.  I  join  my  regiment  at  once." 

Jack  Marche,  who  had  been  studying  his  telegram 
with  puzzled  eyes,  held  it  out  to  Sir  Thorald. 

"  Can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it ;  can  you  ?"  he  de 
manded. 

Sir  Thorald  took  it  and  read  aloud:  "New  York 
Herald  offers  you  your  own  price  and  all  expenses. 
Cable,  if  accepted." 

" ( Cable,  if  accepted/"  repeated  Betty  Castlemaine  ; 
"  accept  what  ?" 

"Exactly  !  What  ?"  said  Jack.  "Do  they  want  a 
story  ?  What  do  ( expenses '  mean  ?  I'm  not  going 
to  Africa  again  if  I  know  it." 

"It  sounds  as  though  the  Herald  wanted  you  for 
some  expedition ;  it  sounds  as  if  everybody  knew  about 
the  expedition,  except  you.  Nobody  ever  hears  any 
news  at  Morteyn,"  said  Molly  Hesketh,  dejectedly, 
"  Are  you  going,  Jack  f" 


TELEGRAMS  FOft,  TWO  19 


"Going?    Where?" 

te  Does  your  telegram  throw  any  light  on  Jack's, 
Ricky  ?"  asked  Sir  Thorald. 

But  Rickeri  von  Elster  turned  away  without  an 
swering. 


m 

SUMMER  THUNDER 

the  old  vicomte  was  well  enough  to  enter 
tain  anybody  at  all,  which  was  not  Very  often,  he  did 
it  skilfully.  So  when  he  filled  the  Chateau  with 
young  people  and  told  them  to  amuse  themselves  and 
not  bother  him,  the  house -party  was  necessarily  a 
success. 

He  himself  sat  all  day  in  the  sunshine,  studying 
the  week's  Paris  newspapers  with  dim,  kindly  eyes, 
or  played  interminable  chess  games  with  his  wife  on 
the  flower  terrace. 

She  was  sixty ;  he  had  passed  threescore  and  ten. 
They  never  strayed  far  from  each  other.  It  had 
always  been  so  from  the  first,  and  the  first  was  when 
Helen  Bruce,  of  New  York  City,  married  Georges 
Vicomte  de  Morteyn.  That  was  long  ago. 

The  chess-table  stood  on  the  terrace  in  the  shadow 
of  the  flower-crowned  parapets ;  the  old  vicomte  sat 
opposite  his  wife,  one  hand  touching  the  black  knight, 
one  foot  propped  up  on  a  pile  of  cushions.  He  pushed 
"the  knight  slowly  from  square  to  square  and  twisted 
his  white  imperial  with  stiff  fingers. 

"Helen/'  he  asked,  mildly,  "are  you  bored  ?" 

"No,  dear." 

Madame  de   Morteyn  smiled  at  her   husband  and 


SUMMER  THUNDER  21 

lifted  a  pawn  in  her  thin,  bine-veined  hand  ;  but  the 
vicointe  had  not  finished,  and  she  replaced  the  pawn 
and  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  moving  the  two  little 
coffee-cups  aside  so  that  she  could  see  what  her  hus 
band  was  doing  with  the  knight. 

From  the  lawn  below  came  the  chatter  and  laughter 
of  girls.  On  the  edge  of  the  lawn  the  little  river 
Lisse  glided  noiselessly  towards  the  beech  woods, 
whose  depths,  saturated  with  sunshine,  rang  with  the 
mellow  notes  of  nesting  thrushes. 

The  middle  of  July  had  found  the  leaves  as  fresh 
and  tender  as  when  they  opened  in  May,  the  willow's 
silver  green  cooled  the  richer  verdure  of  beach  and 
sycamore  ;  the  round  poplar  leaves,  pale  yellow  and 
orange  in  the  sunlight,  hung  brilliant  as  lighted  lan 
terns  where  the  sun  burned  through. 

"Helen?" 

"  Dear  ?" 

<e  I  am  not  at  all  certain  what  to  do  with  my  queen's 
knight.  May  I  have  another  cup  of  coffee  ?" 

Madame  de  Morteyn  poured  the  coffee  from  the  lit 
tle  silver  coffe'e-pot. 

"It  is  hot ;  be  careful,  dear." 

The  vicomte  sipped  his  coffee,  looking  at  her  with 
faded  eyes.  She  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say ;  it 
was  always  the  same,  and  her  answer  was  always  the 
same.  And  always,  as  at  that  first  breakfast — their 
wedding-breakfast  — her  pale  cheeks  bloomed  again 
with  a  subtle  colour,  the  ghost  of  roses  long  dead. 

"  Helen,  are  you  thinking  of  that  morning  ?" 

"Yes,  Georges." 

"Of  our  wedding  -  breakfast— here — at  this  same 
table  ?" 

3 


28  LORRAINE ! 

"  Yes,  Georges." 

The  vicomte  set  his  cup  back  in  the  saucer  and, 
trembling,  poured  a  pale,  golden  liquid  from  a  decan 
ter  into  two  tiny  glasses. 

(t  A  glass  of  wine  ?  —  I  have  the  honour,  my 
dear—" 

The  colour  touched  her  cheeks  as  their  glasses 
met ;  the  still  air  tinkled  with  the  melody  of  crystal 
touching  crystal ;  a  golden  drop  fell  from  the  brim 
ming  glasses.  The  young  people  on  the  lawn  below 
were  very  noisy. 

She  placed  her  empty  glass  on  the  table  ;  the  del 
icate  glow  in  her  cheeks  faded  as  skies  fade  at  twi 
light.  He,  with  grave  head  leaning  on  his  hand, 
looked  vaguely  at  the  chess-board,  and  saw,  mirrored 
on  every  onyx  square,  the  eyes  of  his  wife. 

"Will  you  have  the  journals,  dear?"  she  asked 
presently.  She  handed  him  the  Ganlois,  and  he 
thanked  her  and  opened  it,  peering  closely  at  the 
black  print. 

After  a  moment  he  read :  "  M.  Ollivier  declared, 
in  the  Corps  Legislatif,  that  'at  no  time  in  the 
history  of  France  has  the  maintenance  of  peace  been 
more  assured  than  to-day.'  Oh,  that  journal  is  two 
weeks'  old,  Helen. 

"  The  treaty  of  Paris  in  185G  assured  peace  in  the 
Orient,  and  the  treaty  of  Prague  in  1866  assures  peace 
in  Germany,"  continued  the  vicomte  ;  e(  I  don't  see 
why  it  should  be  necessary  for  Monsieur  Ollivier  to 
insist." 

He  dropped  the  paper  on  the  stones  and  touched 
his  white  mustache. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  General  Chanzy,"  said  his 


SUMMER  THUNDER  23 

wife,  laughing — "you  always  twist  your  mustache 
like  that  when  you're  thinking  of  Chanzy." 

He  smiled,  for  he  was  thinking  of  Chanzy,  his 
sword -brother;  and  the  hot  plains  of  Oran  and  the 
dusty  columns  of  esvalry  passed  before  his  eyes — 
moving,  moving  across  a  world  of  desert  into  the 
flaming  disk  of  the  setting  sun. 

"  Is  to-day  the  16th  of  July,  Helen  ?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Then  Chanzy  is  coming  back  from  Oran.  I  know 
you  dread  it.  We  shall  talk  of  nothing  but  Abd-el- 
Kader  and  Spahis  and  Turcos,  and  how  we  lost  our 
Kabyle  tobacco  at  Bou-Youb." 

She  had  heard  all  about  it,  too ;  she  knew  every 
etape  of  the  48th  of  the  Line  —  from  the  camp  at 
Sathonay  to  Sidi-Bel- Abbes,  and  from  Daya  to  Djebel- 
Mikaidon.  Not  that  she  cared  for  sabres  and  red 
trousers,  but  nothing  that  concerned  her  husband 
was  indifferent  to  her. 

"I  hope  General  Chanzy  will  come,"  she  said, 
"and  tell  you  all  about  those  poor  Kabyles  and  the 
Legion  and  that  horrid  2d  Zouaves  that  you  and  he 
laugh  over.  Are  you  tired,  dear  ?" 

"  No.  Shall  we  play  ?  I  believe  it  was  my  move. 
How  warm  it  is  in  the  sun — no,  don't  stir,  dear — I 
like  it,  and  my  gout  is  better  for  it.  What  do  you 
suppose  all  those  yonng  people  are  doing  ?  Hear 
Betty  Castlemaine  laugh  !  It  is  very  fortunate  for 
them,  Helen,  that  I  married  an  American  with  an 
American's  disregard  of  French  conventionalities." 

"  I  am  very  strict,"  said  his  wife,  smiling  ;  "  I  can 
survey  them  en  chaperone." 

' *  If  you  turn  around,    But  you  don't, w 


24 

"  I  do  when  it  is  necessary/'  said  Madame  de  Mor 
teyn,  indignantly  ;  "Molly  Hesketh  is  there." 

The  vicomte  laughed  and  picked  np  the  knight 
again. 

"  Yon  see,"  he  said,  waving  it  in  the  air,  "  that  I 
also  have  become  a  very  good  American.  I  think  no 
evil  until  it  comes,  and  when  it  comes  I  say,  '  Shock 
ing!'" 

"  Georges !" 

"  That's  what  I  say,  my  dear — " 

"  Georges  I" 

"  There,  dear,  I  won't  tease.  Hark  !  What  ii 
that  ?" 

Madame  de  Morteyn  leaned  over  the  parapet. 

"  It  is  Jean  Bosquet.     Shall  I  speak  to  him  ?" 

"Perhaps  he  has  the  Paris  papers." 

"  Jean  !"  she  called  ;  and  presently  the  little  post 
man  came  trotting  up  the  long  stone  steps  from  the 
drive.  Had  he  anything  ?  Nothing  for  Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  except  a  bundle  of  the  week's  journals  from 
Paris.  So  Madame  de  Morteyn  took  the  papers,  and 
the  little  postman  doffed  his  cap  again  and  trotted 
away,  blue  blouse  fluttering  and  sabots  echoing  along 
the  terrace  pavement. 

"  I  am  tired  of  chess,"  said  the  old  vicomte  ; 
"  would  you  mind  reading  the  Gaukis  T' 

"  The  politics,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  weekly  summary — if  it  won't  bore  you." 

"  Tais  toi !  ficoute.  This  is  dated  July  3d.  Shall 
I  begin  ?" 

"  Yes,  Helen." 

She  held  the  paper  nearer  and  read  :  "  'A  Paris 
journal  publishes  a  despatch  through  Fagence  Havaa 


SUMMER  THUNDER  25 

which  declares  that  a  deputation  from  the  Spanish 
Government  has  left  Madrid  for  Berlin  to  offer  the 
crown  of  Spain  to  Leopold  von  Hohenzollern.  *" 

"  What  !"  cried  the  vicomte,  angrily.  Two  chess 
men  tipped  over  and  rolled  among  the  others. 

"It's  what  it  says,  mon  ami  ;  look — see — it  is  ex 
actly  as  I  read  it." 

"  Are  those  Spaniards  crazy  ?"  muttered  the  vi 
comte,  tugging  at  his  imperial.  "  Look,  Helen,  read 
what  the  next  day's  journal  says." 

His  wife  unfolded  the  paper  dated  the  4th  of  July 
and  found  the  column  and  read  :  "  '  The  press  of 
Paris  unanimously  accuses  the  Imperial  Government 
of  allowing  Prim  and  Bismarck  to  intrigue  against 
the  interests  of  France.  The  French  ambassador, 
Count  Benedetti,  interviewed  the  King  of  Prussia  at 
Ems  and  requested  him  to  prevent  Prince  Leopold 
von  Hohenzollern's  acceptance.  It  is  rumoured  that 
the  King  of  Prussia  declined  to  interfere/ ' 

Madame  de  Morteyn  tossed  the  journal  on  to  the 
terrace  and  opened  another. 

"  '  On  the  12th  of  July  the  Spanish  ambassador 
to  Paris  informed  the  Due  de  Gramont,  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs,  that  the  Prince  von  Hohenzollern  re 
nounces  his  candidacy  to  the  Spanish  throne." 

"  A  la  bonheur !"  said  the  vicomte,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief ;  "  that  settles  the  Hohenzollern  matter.  My 
dear,  can  you  imagine  France  permitting  a  German 
prince  to  mount  the  throne  of  Spain  ?  It  was  more 
than  a  menace — it  was  almost  an  insult.  Do  you  re 
member  Count  Bismarck  when  he  was  ambassador  to 
France  ?  He  is  a  man  who  fascinates  me.  How  he 
used  to  watch  the  Emperor !  I  can  see  him  yet — 


96  LORRAINE  ! 

those  puffy,  pale  eyes  !  Yon  saw  him  also,  dear — yon 
remember,  at  Saint- Cloud  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  thought  him  brusque  and  malicious." 

"I  know  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  this.  I'm  glad  it 
is  over.  Did  you  finish  the  telegraphic  news  ?" 

" Almost  all.  It  says  —  dear  me,  Georges!  —  it 
says  that  the  Due  de  Gramont  refuses  to  accept  any 
pledge  from  the  Spanish  ambassador  unless  that  old 
Von  Werther — the  German  ambassador,  you  know- 
guarantees  that  Prince  Leopold  von  Hohenzollern  will 
never  again  attempt  to  mount  the  Spanish  throne  !" 

There  was  a  silence.  The  old  vicomte  stirred  rest 
lessly  and  knocked  over  some  more  chessmen. 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  day — "  he  said,  at  last ;  "  the 
Due  de  Gramont  is  making  a  mistake  to  press  the 
matter.  The  word  of  the  Spanish  ambassador  is 
enough — until  he  breaks  it.  General  Leboeuf  might 
occupy  himself  in  the  interim — profitably,  I  think." 

"General  Leboeuf  is  minister  of  war.  What  do 
you  mean,  Georges  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  Leboeuf  is  minister  of  war." 

"  And  you  think  this  German  prince  may  some  time 
again — " 

"  I  think  France  should  be  ready  if  he  does.  Is 
she  ready  ?  Not  if  Chanzy  and  I  know  a  Turco  from 
a  Kabyle.  Perhaps  Count  Bismarck  wants  us  to  press 
his  king  for  guarantees.  I  don't  trust  him.  If  he 
does,  we  should  not  oblige  him.  Gramont  is  making 
a  grave  mistake.  Suppose  the  King  of  Prussia  should 
refuse  and  say  it  is  not  his  affair  ?  Then  we  would 
be  obliged  to  accept  that  answer,  or — " 

"  Or  what,  Georges  ?" 

"  Or — well,  my  dear— or  fight.  But  Gramont  is  not 


•UMMBH   THUJTDER  27 

wicked  enough,  nor  is  France  crazy  enough,  to  wish 
to  go  to  war  over  a  contingency — a  possibility  that 
might  never  happen.  I  foresee  a  snub  for  our  am 
bassador  'at  Ems,  but  that  is  all.  Do  you  care  to  play 
any  more  ?  I  tipped  over  my  king  and  his  castles." 

"Perhaps  it  is  an  omen  —  the  King  of  Prussia, 
you  know,  and  his  fortresses.  I  feel  superstitious, 
Georges  !" 

The  vicomte  smiled  and  set  the  pieces  up  on  their 
proper  squares. 

"  It  is  settled  ;  the  Spanish  ambassador  pledges 
his  word  that  Prince  Ilohenzollern  will  not  be  King 
of  Spain.  France  should  be  satisfied.  It  is  my  move, 
I  believe,  and  I  move  so — check  to  you,  my  dear  !" 

"  I  resign,  dearest.  Listen  !  Here  come  the  chil 
dren  up  the  terrace  steps." 

"But — but — Helen,  you  must  not  resign  so  soon. 
Why  should  you  ?" 

"  Because  you  are  already  beaten,"  she  laughed, 
gently — "  your  king  and  his  castles  and  all  his  men  ! 
How  headstrong  you  Chasseurs  d'Afrique  are  !" 

"  Fm  not  beaten  !"  said  the  old  man,  stoutly,  and 
leaned  closer  over  the  board.  Then  he  also  laughed, 
and  said,  "  Tiens !  tiens  !  tiens I"  and  his  wife  rose 
and  gave  him  her  arm.  Two  pretty  girls  came  run 
ning  up  the  terrace,  and  the  old  vicomte  stood  up, 
crying  :  "Children  !  Naughty  ones  !  I  see  you  com 
ing  !  Madame  de  Morteyn  has  beaten  me  at  chess. 
Laugh  if  you  dare  !  Betty  Castlemaine,  I  see  you 
smiling  \" 

"I?"  laughed  that  young  lady,  turning  her  flushed 
face  from  her  aunt  to  her  uncle. 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  repeated  the  yicomte,  "and  you 


28  LORRAINE  ! 

are  not  the  niece  that  I  lore  any  more.  "Where  have 
yon  been  ?  And  you,  Dorothy  Marche  ? — your  hair  is 
very  much  tangled." 

"  We  have  been  lunching  by  the  Lisse,"  said  Doro 
thy,  "  and  Jack  caught  a  gudgeon  ;  here  it  is." 

"  Pooh  I"  said  the  old  vicomte  ;  "  I  must  show  them 
how  to  fish.  Helen,  I  shall  go  fishing — " 

"  Some  time,"  said  his  wife,  gently.  ' '  Betty,  where 
are  the  men  ?" 

"  Jack  and  Barbara  Lisle  are  fishing  ;  Sir  Thorald 
and  Lady  Hesketh  are  in  the  green  boat,  and  Ricky 
is  rowing  them.  The  others  are  somewhere.  Ricky 
got  a  telegram,  and  must  go  to  Berlin." 

"Tell  Rickerl  von  Elster  that  his  king  is  making 
mischief,"  laughed  the  vicomte,  "and  he  may  go 
back  to  Berlin  when  he  chooses."  Then,  smiling  at 
the  young,  flushed  faces,  he  leaned  on  his  wife's  arm 
and  passed  slowly  along  the  terrace  towards  the  house. 

"  I  wonder  why  Lorraine  has  not  come  ?"  he  said  to 
his  wife.  "  Won't  she  come  to-night  for  the  dance  ?" 

"Lorraine  is  a  very  sweet  but  a  very  uncertain 
girl,"  replied  Madame  de  Morteyn.  She  led  him 
through  the  great  bay-window  opening  on  the  terrace, 
drew  his  easy-chair  before  his  desk,  placed  the  jour 
nals  before  him,  and,  stooping,  kissed  him. 

"  If  you  want  me,  send  Charles.  I  really  ought  to 
be  with  the  young  people  a  moment.  I  wonder  why 
Ricky  must  leave  ?" 

"  How  far  away  are  yon  going,  Helen  ?" 

"  Only  to  the  Lisse." 

"Then  I  shall  read  about  Monsieur  Bismarck  and 
his  Spanish  friends  until  you  come.  The  day  is  long 
without  you." 


SUMMER    THUNDER  29 

They  smiled  at  each  other,  and  she  sat  down  by 
the  window. 

"Read,"  she  said;  "I  can  see  my  children  from 
here.  I  wonder  why  Ricky  is  leaving  ?" 

Suddenly,  in  the  silence  of  the  summer  noon,  far 
in  the  east,  a  dull  sound  shook  the  stillness.  Again 
they  heard  it — again,  and  again — a  deep  boom,  mut 
tering,  reverberating  like  summer  thunder. 

"Why  should  they  fire  cannon  to-day,  Helen?" 
asked  the  old  man,  querulously.  "  Why  should  they 
fire  cannon  beyond  the  Rhine  ?" 

"  It  is  thunder,"  she  said,  gently ;  "  it  will  storm 
before  long." 

"  I  am  tired,"  said  the  vicomte.  "  Helen,  I  shall 
sleep.  Sit  by  me  —  so  —  no  —  nearer  yet!  Are  the 
children  happy  ?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  When  the  cannon  cease,  I  shall  fall  asleep.  Lis 
ten  !  what  is  that  ?" 

"A  blackbird  singing  in  the  pear-tree." 

"  And  what  is  that — that  sound  of  galloping  ?  Look 
out  and  see,  Helen." 

"It  is  a  gendarme  riding  fast  towards  the  Rhine." 


IV 

THE  FARANDOLE 

THAT  evening  Dorothy  Marche  stood  on  the  terrace 
in  the  moonlight  waving  her  plumed  fan  and  listen 
ing  to  the  orchestra  from  the  hamlet  of  Saint-Lys. 
The  orchestra — two  violins,  a  reed-pipe,  a  binion,  and 
a  harp  —  were  playing  away  with  might  and  main. 
Through  the  bay-window  she  could  see  the  crystal 
chandeliers  glittering  with  prismatic  light,  the  slen 
der  gilded  chairs,  the  cabinets  and  canapes,  golden, 
backed  with  tapestry ;  and  everywhere  massed  banks 
of  ferns  and  lilies.  They  were  dancing  in  there  ;  she 
saw  Lady  Hesketh  floating  in  the  determined  gripe 
of  Cecil  Page,  she  saw  Sir  Thorald  proudly  prancing 
to  the  air  of  the  farandole  ;  Betty  Castlemaine,  Jack, 
Alixe,  Barbara  Lisle  passed  the  window  only  to  re- 
pass  and  pass  again  in  a  whirl  of  gauze  and  filmy 
colour ;  and  the  swish  !  swish  !  swish  !  of  silken  pet 
ticoats,  and  the  rub  of  little  feet  on  the  polished  floor 
grew  into  a  rhythmic,  monotonous  cadence,  beating, 
beating  the  measure  of  the  farandole. 

Dorothy  waved  her  fan  and  looked  at  Rickerl,  stand 
ing  in  the  moonlight  beside  her. 

1  ( Why  won't  you  dance,  Ricky  ?"  she  asked  ;  "  it 
is  your  last  evening,  if  you  are  determined  to  leave 
to-morrow."  He  turned  to  her  with  an  abrupt  ^est- 


TUB  FAJUJTBOUE  *1 

tire ;  she  thought  he  was  going  to  speak,  bnt  he  did 
not,  and  after  a  moment  she  said:  "Do  yon  know 
what  that  despatch  from  the  New  York  Herald  to 
my  brother  means  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  dull,  almost  indif 
ferent. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  to-morrow." 

"  Is — is  it  anything  dangerous  that  they  want  him 
to  do  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ricky — tell  me,  then  !    You  frighten  me." 

"  To-morrow — perhaps  to-night." 

"  Perhaps  to-night  ?" 

"  If  I  receive  another  telegram.     I  expect  to." 

"  Then,  if  you  receive  another  despatch,  we  shall 
all  know  ?" 

Rickerl  von  Elster  bent  his  head  and  laid  a  gloved 
hand  lightly  on  her  own. 

(<  I  am  very  unhappy,"  he  said,  simply.  "  May  we 
not  speak  of  other  things  ?" 

"  Yes,  Ricky,"  she  said,  faintly.  He  looked  almost 
handsome  there  in  the  moonlight,  but  under  his  even 
ing  dress  the  square  build  of  the  Prussian  trooper, 
the  rigid  back,  and  sturdy  limbs  were  perhaps  too 
apparent  for  ideal  civilian  elegance.  Dorothy  looked 
into  his  serious  young  face.  He  touched  his  blond 
mustache,  felt  unconsciously  for  the  sabre  that  was 
not  dangling  from  his  left  hip,  remembered,  coloured, 
and  stood  up  even  straighter. 

"  We  are  thinking  of  the  same  thing,"  said  Doro 
thy  ;  "  I  was  trying  to  recall  that  last  time  we  met — 
do  you  remember  ?  In  Paris  ?" 


32  LORRAINE  I 

He  nodded ;  eyes  fixed  on  hers. 

"At  the  Diplomatic  Ball  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  yon  were  in  uniform,  and  your  sabre  was 
very  beautiful,  but — do  you  remember  how  it  clashed 
and  banged  on  the  marble  stairway,  and  how  the  other 
attaches  teased  you  until  you  tucked  it  under  your 
left  arm  ?  Dear  me  !  I  was  fascinated  by  your  patent- 
leather  sabre-tache,  and  your  little  spurs,  that  rang 
like  tiny  chimes  when  you  walked.  What  sentimen 
tal  creatures  young  girls  are  !  Ne  c'est  pas,  Ricky  ?" 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  that  evening,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  so  low  that  she  leaned  involuntarily  nearer. 

"  We  were  very  young  then,"  she  said,  waving  her 
fan. 

"  It  was  not  a  year  ago." 

"  We  were  young,"  she  repeated,  coldly. 

"  Yet  I  shall  never  forget,  Dorothy." 

She  closed  her  fan  and  began  to  examine  the  fluffy 
plumes.  Her  cheeks  were  red,  and  she  bit  her  lips 
continually. 

"  Do  you  particularly  admire  Molly  Hesketh's 
hand  ?"  she  asked,  indifferently. 

He  turned  crimson.  How  could  she  know  or  the 
episode  in  the  orangery  ?  Know  ?  There  was  no 
mystery  in  that ;  Molly  Hesketh  had  told  her.  But 
Rickerl  von  Elster,  loyal  in  little  things,  saw  but  one 
explanation — Dorothy  must  have  seen  him. 

"  Yes — I  kissed  her  hand,"  he  said.  He  did  not 
add  that  Molly  had  dared  him. 

Dorothy  raised  her  head  with  an  icy  smile. 

"  Is  it  honourable  to  confess  such  a  thing  ?"  she 
asked,  in  steady  tones. 


THE   FAKANDOLE  88 

"But — but  yon  knew  it,  for  yon  saw  me — "  he 
stammered. 

"  I  did  not  I"  she  flashed  out,  and  walked  straight 
into  the  house. 

"  Dome  !"  cried  her  brother  as  she  swept  by  him, 
"  what  do  you  think  ?  Lorraine  de  Nesville  is  coming 
this  evening  I" 

"  Lorraine  ?"  said  his  sister — "  dear  me,  I  am  dying 
to  see  her." 

"  Then  turn  around,"  whispered  Betty  Castlem&ins, 
leaning  across  from  Cecil's  arm.  "  Oh,  Dorrie  !  what 
a  beauty  I" 

At  the  same  moment  the  old  vicomte  rose  from  his 
gilded  chair  and  stepped  forward  to  the  threshold, 
saying,  "  Lorraine  !  Lorraine  !  Then  you  have  come 
at  last,  little  bad  one  ?"  And  he  kissed  her  white 
hands  and  led  her  to  his  wife,  murmuring,  "Helen, 
what  shall  we  do  with  the  little  bad  one  who  never 
comes  to  bid  two  old  people  good-day  ?" 

"Ah,  Lorraine  I"  said  Madame  de  Morteyn;  "kiss 
me,  my  child." 

There  she  stood,  her  cheeks  faintly  touched  with 
colour,  her  splendid  eyes  shining  like  azure  stars,  the 
candle-light  setting  her  heavy  hair  aglow  till  it  glis 
tened  and  burned  as  molten  ore  flashes  in  a  crucible. 
They  pressed  around  her ;  she  saw,  through  the  flare 
of  yellow  light,  a  sea  of  rosy  faces ;  a  vague  mist  of 
lace  set  with  jewels ;  and  she  smiled  at  them  while 
the  colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks.  There  was  music 
in  her  ears  and  music  in  her  heart,  and  she  was 
dancing  now  —  dancing  with  a  tall,  bronzed  young 
fellow  who  held  her  strong  and  safe,,  and  whose  eyes 
continually  sought  her  own. 

3 


34  LORRAINE  ! 

"  You  see/'  she  said,  demurely,  "  that  my  gowns 
came  to-day  from  Paris. " 

"  It  is  a  dream — this  one/'  he  said,  smiling  back 
into  her  eyes,  "but  I  shall  never  forget  the  scarlet 
skirt  and  little  bodice  of  velvet,  and  the  silver  chains, 
and  yonr  hair — " 

"  My  hair  ?    It  is  still  on  my  head." 

"  It  was  tangled  across  your  face — then." 

' f  Taisez-vous,  Monsieur  Marche  V 

"  And  you  seem  to  have  grown  taller — " 

"  It  is  my  ball-gown." 

"  And  you  do  not  cast  down  your  eyes  and  say, 
*0ui,  monsieur/  'Non,  monsieur' — " 

"  Non,  monsieur." 

Again  they  laughed,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes, 
and  there  was  music  in  the  room  and  music  in  their 
hearts. 

Presently  the  candle-light  gave  place  to  moon 
light,  and  they  found  themselves  on  the  terrace, 
seated,  listening  to  the  voice  of  the  wind  in  the  for 
est  ;  and  they  heard  the  little  river  Lisse  among 
the  rushes  and  the  murmur  of  leaves  on  the 
eaves. 

When  they  became  aware  of  their  own  silence  they 
turned  to  each  other  with  the  gentle  haste  born  of 
confusion,  for  each  feared  that  the  other  might  not 
understand.  Then,  smiling,  half  fearful,  they  reas 
sured  each  other  with  their  silence. 

She  was  the  first  to  break  the  stillness,  hesitating 
as  one  who  breaks  the  seal  of  a  letter  long  expected, 
half  dreaded:  "I  came  late  because  my  father  was 
restless,  and  I  thought  he  might  need  me.  Did  you 
bear  cannon  along  the  Rhine  ?" 


THE   FABANDOLE  35 

"Yes.  Some  German  f£te.  I  thought  at  first  it 
might  be  thunder.  Give  me  your  fan/5 

"  You  do  not  hold  it  right — there — " 

"  Do  you  feel  the  breeze  ?  Your  fan  is  perfumed — 
or  is  it  the  lilies  on  the  terrace  ?  They  are  dancing 
again ;  must  we  go  back  ?" 

She  looked  out  into  the  dazzling  moonlight  of  Lor 
raine  ;  a  nightingale  began  singing  far  away  in  the 
distant  swamp  ;  a  bat  darted  by,  turned,  rose,  dipped, 
and  vanished. 

"  They  are  dancing,"  she  repeated. 

"  Must  we  go  ?" 

"  No." 

In  the  stillness  the  nightingale  grew  bolder ;  the 
woods  seemed  saturated  with  song. 

"  My  father  is  restless ;  I  must  return  soon,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  sigh,  "  I  shall  go  in  presently  and 
make  my  adieux.  I  wish  you  might  know  my  father. 
"Will  you  ?  He  would  like  you.  He  speaks  to  few 
people  except  me.  I  know  all  that  he  thinks,  all  that 
he  dreams  of.  I  know  also  all  that  he  has  done,  all 
that  he  is  doing,  all  that  he  will  do — God  willing. 
Why  is  it  I  tell  you  this  ?  Ma  foi,  I  do  not  know. 
And  I  am  going  to  tell  you  more.  Have  you  heard 
that  my  father  has  made  a  balloon  ?" 

"Yes  —  everybody  speaks  of  it,"  he  answered, 
gravely. 

"  But — ah,  this  is  the  wonderful  part ! — he  has  made 
a  balloon  that  can  be  inflated  in  five  seconds  I  Think  ! 
All  other  balloons  require  a  long,  long  while,  and  many 
tubes ;  and  one  must  take  them  to  a  usine  de  gaz. 
My  father's  balloon  needs  no  gas — that  is,  it  needs  no 
common  illuminating  gas." 


36  LORRAINE  ! 

'  A  montgolfier  ?"  asked  Marche,  curionsly. 

"  Oh,  pooh  !  The  idea  !  'No,  it  is  like  other  bal 
loons,  except  that — well — there  is  needed  merely  a 
handful  of  silvery  dust — to  which  yon  touch  a  drop  of 
water— piff !  puff !  c'  est  fini !  The  balloon  is  filled." 

"And  what  is  this  silvery  dust  ?"  he  asked,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Voila !  Do  you  not  wish  you  knew  ?  I — Lorraine 
de  Nesville — I  know  !  It  is  a  secret.  If  the  time  ever 
should  come — in  case  of  war,  for  instance — my  father 
will  give  the  secret  to  France — freely — without  rec 
ompense —  a  secret  that  all  the  nations  of  Europe 
could  -uot  buy  !  Now,  don't  you  wish  you  knew,  mon 
sieur  ?*  9 

"  And  you  know  7" 

"  Yes/'  she  said,  with  a  tantalizing  toss  of  her  head. 

"Then  you'd  better  look  out,"  he  laughed;  "if 
European  nations  get  wind  of  this  they  might  kid 
nap  you." 

"  They  know  it  already, "she  said,  seriously.  "  Aus 
tria,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  Russia  have  sent  agents  to 
my  father — as  though  he  bought  and  sold  the  welfare 
of  his  country  P 

"And  that  map-making  fellow  this  morning — do 
you  suppose  he  might  have  been  hanging  about  after 
that  sort  of  thing — trying  to  pry  and  pick  up  some 
scrap  of  information  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  quietly ;  "  I  only  saw 
hirn  making  maps.  Listen  !  there  are  two  secrets 
that  my  father  possesses,  and  they  are  both  in  writ 
ing.  I  do  not  know  where  he  keeps  them,  but  I  know 
what  they  are.  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Then  listen— I  shall 
whisper.  One  ii  the  chemical  formula  for  the  silvery 


THE  FARANDOLE  37 

dust,  the  gas  of  which  can  fill  a  balloon  in  five  sec 
onds.     The   other  is  —  you  will  be   astonished  —  the 
plan  for  a  navigable  balloon  I" 
"  Has  he  tried  it  ?" 

"  A  dozen  times.  I  went  up  twice.  It  steers  like 
a  ship." 

"  Do  people  know  this,  too  ?" 

"Germany  does.  Once  we  sailed,  papa  and  I,  up 
over  our  forest  and  across  the  country  to  the  German 
frontier.  We  were  not  very  high  ;  we  could  see  the 
soldiers  at  the  custom-house,  and  they  saw  us,  and — 
would  you  believe  it? — they  fired  their  horrid  guns  at 
us — pop  !  pop  !  pop  !  But  we  were  too  quick ;  we 
simply  sailed  back  again  against  the  very  air-cui:*°uts 
that  brought  us.  One  bullet  made  a  hole  in  the  silk, 
but  we  didn't  come  down.  Papa  says  a  dozen  bullets 
cannot  bring  a  balloon  down,  even  when  they  pierce 
the  silk,  because  the  air-pressure  is  great  enough  to 
keep  the  gas  in.  But  he  says  that  if  they  fire  a  shell, 
that  is  what  is  to  be  dreaded,  for  the  gas,  once  aflame  ! 
— that  ends  all.  Dear  me  !  we  talk  a  great  deal  of 
war — you  and  I.  It  is  time  for  me  to  go." 

They  rose  in  the  moonlight ;  he  gave  her  back  her 
fan.  For  a  full  minute  they  stood  silent,  facing  each 
other.  She  broke  a  lily  from  its  stem,  and  drew  it 
out  of  the  cluster  at  her  breast.  She  did  not  offer  it, 
but  he  knew  it  was  his,  and  he  took  it. 

"  Symbol  of  France,"  she  whispered. 

"  Symbol  of  Lorraine,"  he  said,  aloud. 

A  deep  boom,  sullen  as  summer  thunder,  shoot" 
the  echoes  awake  among  the  shrouded  hills,  rolling, 
reverberating,  resounding,  until  the  echoes  carried  it 
on  from  valley  to  valley,  off  into  the  world  of  shadows. 


38  LORRAINE  I 

The  utter  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  a 
call,  a  gallop  of  hoofs  on  the  gravel  drive,  the  clink  of 
stirrups,  the  snorting  of  hard-run  horses. 

Somebody  cried,  "A  telegram  for  you,  Ricky!" 
There  was  a  patter  of  feet  on  the  terrace,  a  chorus 
of  voices:  "What  is  it,  Ricky?"  "Must  you  go  at 
once  r  "  Whatever  is  the  matter  ?" 

The  young  German  soldier,  very  pale,  turned  to  the 
circle  of  lamp-lit  faces. 

"  France  and  Germany — I — I — " 

"What  r  cried  Sir  Thorald,  violently. 

se  War  was  declared  at  noon  to-day  !" 

Lorraine  gave  a  gasp  and  reached  out  one  hand. 
Jack  Marche  took  it  in  both  of  his. 

Inside  the  ballroom  the  orchestra  was  still  playing 
the  farandole. 


COWARDS   AND   THEIR   COURAGE 

RICKERL  took  the  old  vicomte's  withered  hand ; 
he  could  not  speak ;  his  sister  Alixe  was  crying. 

"War?  War?  Allons  done!"  muttered  the  old 
man.  "Helen!  Ricky  says  we  are  to  have  war. 
Helen,  do  you  hear  ?  War  !" 

Then  Rickerl  hurried  away  to  dress,  for  he  was  to 
ride  to  the  Rhine,  nor  spare  whip  nor  spur ;  and  Bar 
bara  Lisle  comforted  little  Alixe,  who  wept  as  she 
watched  the  maids  throwing  everything  pell-mell  into 
their  trunks  ;  for  they,  too,  were  to  leave  at  daylight 
on  the  Moselle  Express  for  Cologne. 

Below,  a  boy  appeared,  leading  Rickerl's  horse  from 
the  stables ;  there  were  lanterns  moving  along  the 
drive,  and  dark  figures  passing,  clustering  about  the 
two  steaming  horses  of  the  messengers,  where  a  groom 
stood  with  a  pail  of  water  and  a  sponge.  Everywhere 
the  hum  of  voices  rose  and  died  away  like  the  rumour 
of  swarming  bees.  "War!"  "War  is  declared!" 
"  When  ?"  "  War  was  declared  to-day  !"  "  When  ?" 
"War  was  declared  to-day  at  noon!"  And  always 
the  burden  of  the  busy  voices  was  the  same,  men 
acing,  incredulous,  half  -  whispered,  but  always  the 
same — "  War !  war  !  war !" 

Booted  and  spurred,  square-shouldered  and  muscu- 


40  LORRAINE  ! 

lar  in  his  corded  riding-suit,  Rickerl  passed  the  ter 
race  again  after  the  last  adieux.  The  last  ?  No, 
for  as  his  heavy  horse  stamped  out  across  the  drive 
a  voice  murmured  his  name,  a  hand  fell  on  his  arm. 

"  Dorothy,"  he  whispered,  bending  from  his  saddle. 

"I  love  you,  Ricky,"  she  gasped. 

And  they  say  women  are  cowards  ! 

He  lifted  her  to  his  breast,  held  her  crushed  and 
panting ;  she  put  both  hands  before  her  eyes. 
*  "There  has  never  been  any  one  but  you;  do  you 
believe  it  ?"  he  stammered. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  are  mine  !" 

"Yes.    May  God  spare  you  !" 

And  Rickerl,  loyal  in  little  things,  swung  her  gently 
to  the  ground  again,  unkissed. 

There  was  a  flurry  of  gravel,  a  glimpse  of  a  horse 
rearing,  plunging,  springing  into  the  darkness — that 
was  all.  And  she  crept  back  to  the  terrace  with  hot, 
tearless  lids,  that  burned  till  all  her  body  quivered 
with  the  fever  in  her  aching  eyes.  She  passed  the 
orchestra,  trudging  back  to  Saint-Lys  along  the  gravel 
drive,  the  two  fat  violinists  stolidly  smoking  their  Al- 
sacian  pipes,  the  harp-player  muttering  to  the  aged 
piper,  the  little  biniou  man  from  the  Cote-d'Or,  ex 
cited,  mercurial,  gesticulating  at  every  step.  War ! 
war  !  war  !  The  burden  of  the  ghastly  monotone  was 
in  her  brain,  her  tired  heart  kept  beating  out  the  ca 
dence  that  her  little  slippered  feet  echoed  along  the 
gravel — War  !  war  ! 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  which  skirted  the  terrace 
ghe  met  her  brother  and  Lorraine  watching  the  groom 
rubbing  down  the  messengers'  horses.  A  lantern, 


COWARDS  AND  THEIR   COURAGE  41 

glimmering  on  the  ground,  shed  a  sickly  light  tinder 
their  eyes. 

"Dome,"  said  Jack,  "  Sir  Thorald  and  Lady  Hes- 
keth  think  that  we  all  should  start  for  Paris  by  the 
early  train.  They  have  already  sent  some  of  our 
trunks  to  Saint-Lys ;  Mademoiselle  de  Nesville  " — he 
turned  with  a  gesture  almost  caressing  to  Lorraine — 
' '  Mademoiselle  de  Nesville  has  generously  offered  her 
carriage  to  help  transport  the  luggage,  and  she  is 
going  to  wait  until  it  returns." 

' '  And  uncle — and  our  aunt  De  Morteyn  ?" 

"  I  shall  stay  at  Morteyn  until  they  decide  whether 
to  close  the  house  and  go  to  Paris  or  to  stay  until 
October.  Dorrie,  dear,  we  are  very  near  the  frontier 
here." 

"  There  will  be  no  invasion,"  said  Lorraine,  faintly. 

"  The  Rhine  is  very  near,"  repeated  Dorothy.  She 
was  thinking  of  Rickerl. 

"So  you  and  Betty  and  Cecil,"  continued  Jack, 
"are  to  go  with  the  Heskeths  to  Paris.  Poor  little 
Alixe  is  crying  her  eyes  out  up-stairs.  She  and  Bar 
bara  Lisle  are  going  to  Cologne,  where  Ricky  will 
either  find  them  or  have  his  father  meet  them." 

After  a  moment  he  added,  "It  seems  incredible, 
this  news.  They  say,  in  the  village,  that  the  King 
of  Prussia  insulted  the  French  ambassador,  Count 
Benedetti,  on  the  public  promenade  of  Ems.  It's  all 
about  that  Hohenzollern  business  and  the  Spanish 
succession.  Everybody  thought  it  was  settled,  of 
course,  because  the  Spanish  ambassador  said  so,  and 
Prince  Leopold  von  Hohenzollern  withdrew  his  claim, 
I  can't  understand  it ;  I  can  scarcely  believe  it." 

Dorothy  stood  a  L.oment,  looking  at  the  stars  in 


42  LORRAINE  I 

the  midnight  sky.  Then  she  turned  with  a  sigh  to 
Lorraine. 

"  Good-night/'  she  said,  and  they  kissed  each  other, 
these  two  young  girls  who  an  hour  before  had  been 
strangers. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  ?  We  leave  by  the  early 
train,"  whispered  Dorothy. 

"No — I  must  return  when  my  carriage  comes  back 
from  the  village.  Good -by,  dear  —  good -by,  dear 
Dorothy." 

A  moment  later,  Dorothy,  flinging  her  short  er 
mine-edged  cloak  from  her  shoulders,  entered  the 
empty  ballroom  and  threw  herself  upon  the  gilded 
canape. 

One  by  one  the  candles  spluttered,  glimmered,  flash 
ed  up,  and  went  out,  leaving  a  trail  of  smoke  in  the 
still  air.  Up-stairs  little  Alixe  was  sobbing  herself 
to  sleep  in  Barbara's  arms ;  in  his  own  chamber  the 
old  vicomte  paced  to  and  fro,  and  to  and  fro,  and  his 
sweet -faced  wife  watched  him  in  silence,  her  thin 
hand  shading  her  eyes  in  the  lamplight.  In  the  next 
room  Sir  Thorald  and  Lady  Hesketh  sat  close  to 
gether,  whispering.  Only  Betty  Castlemaine  and  Ce 
cil  Page  had  lost  little  of  their  cheerfulness,  perhaps 
because  neither  were  French,  and  Cecil  was  not  going 
to  the  war,  and — after  all,  war  promised  to  be  an  ex 
citing  thing,  and  well  worth  the  absorbed  attention  of 
two  very  young  lovers.  Arm  in  arm,  they  prome 
naded  the  empty  halls  arid  galleries,  meeting  no  one 
save  here  and  there  a  pale-faced  maid  or  scared 
flunky ;  and  at  length  they  entered  the  gilded  ball 
room  where  Dorothy  lay,  flung  full  length  on  the  ca 
nape. 


COWARDS  AND  THEIR  COURAGE  43 

She  submitted  to  Betty's  caresses,  and  went  away 
to  bed  with  her,  saying  good-night  to  Cecil  in  a  tear^ 
choked  voice ;  and  a  moment  later  Cecil  sought  his 
own  chamber,  lighted  a  pipe,  and  gave  himself  up 
to  delightful  visions  of  Betty,  protected  from  several 
Prussian  army-corps  by  the  single  might  of  his  strong 
right  arm. 

At  the  foot  of  the  terrace,  Lorraine  de  Nesville 
stood  with  Jack,  watching  the  dark  drive  for  the 
lamps  of  the  returning  carriage.  Her  maid  loitered 
near,  exchanging  whispered  gossip  with  the  groom, 
who  now  stood  undecided,  holding  both  horses  and 
waiting  for  orders.  Presently  Jack  asked  him  where 
the  messengers  were,  and  he  said  he  didn't  know,  but 
that  they  had  perhaps  gone  to  the  kitchens  for  refresh 
ments. 

"  Go  and  find  them,  then;  here,  give  me  the  bridles," 
said  Jack;  "if  they  are  eating,  let  them  finish;  I'll 
hold  their  horses.  Why  doesn't  Mademoiselle  de  Nes- 
ville's  carriage  come  back  from  Saint  -  Lys  ?  When 
you  leave  the  kitchens,  go  down  the  road  and  look  for 
it.  Tell  them  to  hurry/' 

The  groom  touched  his  cap  and  hastened  away. 

"  I  wish  the  carriage  would  come — I  wish  the  car 
riage  would  hurry,"  repeated  Lorraine,  at  intervals. 
"  My  father  is  alone ;  I  am  nervous,  I  don't  know 
why.  What  are  you  reading  ?" 

' '  My  telegram  from  the  New  York  Herald/'  he  an 
swered,  thoughtfully. 

"It  is  easy  to  understand  now,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  easy  to  understand.  They  want  me  for  war 
correspondent. " 

"  Are  you  going  ?" 


44  LORRAINE  I 

"  I  don't  know — "  He  hesitated,  trying  to  see  her 
eyes  in  the  darkness.  "I  don't  know;  shall  you  stay 
here  in  the  Moselle  Valley  ?" 

""'Yes — I  suppose  so." 

"  You  are  very  near  the  Rhine." 

"  There  will  be— there  shall  be  no  invasion,"  she 
said,  feverishly.  "  France  also  ends  at  the  Rhine ; 
let  them  look  to  their  own  !" 

She  moved  impatiently,  stepped  from  the  stones  to 
the  damp  gravel,  and  walked  slowly  across  the  misty 
lawn.  He  followed,  leading  the  horses  behind  him 
and  holding  his  telegram  open  in  Iiis  right  hand. 
Presently  she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder,  saw  him 
following,  and  waited. 

"  Why,  will  you  go  as  war  correspondent  ?"  she 
asked  when  he  came  up,  leading  the  saddled  horses. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  was  on  the  Herald  staff  in  New 
York ;  they  gave  me  a  roving  commission,  which  I 
enjoyed  so  much  that  I  resigned  and  stayed  in  Paris. 
I  had  not  dreamed  that  I  should  ever  be  needed — I 
did  not  think  of  anything  like  this." 

' '  Have  you  never  seen  war  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of.  I  was  the  Herald's  repre 
sentative  at  Sadowa,  and  before  that  I  saw  some  Ka- 
byles  shot  in  Gran.  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"To  the  river.  WTe  can  hear  the  carriage  when  it 
comes,  and  I  want  to  see  the  lights  of  the  Chateau 
de  Nesville." 

"  From  the  river  ?    Can  you  ?" 

"  Yes — the  trees  are  cut  away  north  of  the  boat- 
house.  Look  !  I  told  you  so.  My  father  is  there 
alone." 

Far  away  in  the  night  the  lights  of  the  Chateau  de 


COWARDS  AND  THEIR  COURAGE  45 

Nesville  glimmered  between  the  trees,  smaller,  paler, 
yellower  than  the  splendid  stars  that  crowned  the 
black  vault  above  the  forest. 

After  a  silence  she  reached  out  her  hand  abruptly 
and  took  the  telegram  from  between  his  fingers.  In 
the  starlight  she  read  it,  once,  twice  ;  then  raised  her 
head  and  smiled  at  him. 

"  Are  you  going  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     Yes." 

"  Xo,"  she  said,  and  tore  the  telegram  into  bits. 

One  by  one  she  tossed  the  pieces  on  to  the  bosom  of 
the  placid  Lisse,  where  they  sailed  away  towards  the 
Moselle  like  dim,  blue  blossoms  floating  idly  with  the 
current. 

"Are  yon  angry  ?"  she  whispered. 

He  saw  that  she  was  trembling,  and  that  her  face 
had  grown  very  pale. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  amazed. 

"  The  matter — the  matter  is  this  :  I — I — Lorraine 
de  Nesville — am  afraid  !  I  am  afraid  !  It  is  fear — it 
is  fear  I" 

"  Fear  ?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"Yes!"  she  cried.  "Yes,  it  is  fear!  I  cannot 
help  it— I  never  before  knew  it — that  I — I  could  be 
afraid.  Don't — don't  leave  us — my  father  and  me  !" 
she  cried,  passionately.  "  We  are  so  alone  there  in 
the  house — I  fear  the  forest — I  fear — " 

She  trembled  violently ;  a  wolf  howled  on  the  dis 
tant  hill. 

"  I  shall  gallop  back  to  the  Chateau  de  Nesville 
with  you/'  he  said ;  "  I  shall  be  close  beside  you, 
riding  by  your  carriage-window.  Don't  tremble  so — 
Mademoiselle  de  Nesville." 


46  LORRAINE  I 

"  It  is  terrible,"  she  stammered  ;  e<  I  never  knew  I 
was  a  coward." 

"  Yon  are  anxions  for  yonr  father,"  he  said,  qnietly; 
"  yon  are  no  coward  !" 

"  I  am — I  tremble — see  !  I  shiver." 

"  It  was  the  wolf — " 

"  Ah,  yes — the  wolf  that  warned  ns  of  war !  and 
the  men — that  one  who  made  maps ;  I  never  could 
do  again  what  I  did  !  Then  I  was  afraid  of  nothing ; 
now  I  fear  everything — the  howl  of  that  beast  on  the 
hill,  the  wind  in  the  trees,  the  ripple  of  the  Lisse — 
C'est  plus  fort  que  moi  —  I  am  a  coward.  Listen! 
Can  you  hear  the  carriage  ?" 

"  No." 

<(  Listen — ah,  listen  !" 

"  It  is  the  noise  of  the  river." 

"  The  river  ?    How  black  it  is  !    Hark  !" 

"The  wind." 

"  Hark  !" 

"  The  wind  again—" 

"  Look  !"  She  seized  his  arm  frantically.  "  Look  ! 
Oh,  what — what  was  that  ?" 

The  report  of  a  gun,  faint  but  clear,  came  to  their 
( ars.  Something  flashed  from  the  lighted  windows 
of  the  Chateau  de  Nesville — another  flash  broke  out — 
another — then  three  dull  reports  sounded,  and  the 
night  wind  spread  the  echoes  broadcast  among  the 
wooded  hills. 

For  a  second  she  stood  beside  him,  white,  rigid, 
speechless  ;  then  her  little  hand  crushed  his  arm  and 
she  pushed  him  violently  towards  the  horses. 

"  Mount !"  she  cried  ;  "  ride  !  ride  !" 

Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  did,  he  backed  one 


COWARDS  AND  THEIR  COURAGE  47 

of  the  horses,  seized  the  gathered  bridle  and  mane, 
and  flung  himself  astride.  The  horse  reared,  backed 
again,  and  stood  stamping.  At  the  same  instant  he 
swung  about  in  his  saddle  and  cried,  "  Go  back  to 
the  house  !" 

But  she  was  already  in  the  saddle,  guiding  the  other 
horse,  her  silken  skirts  crushed,  her  hair  flying,  saw 
ing  at  the  bridle-bit  with  gloved  fingers.  The  wind 
lifted  the  cloak  on  her  shoulders,  her  little  satin  slip 
per  sought  one  stirrup. 

' ( Hide  \"  she  gasped,  and  lashed  her  horse. 

He  saw  her  pass  him  in  a  whirl  of  silken  draperies 
streaming  in  the  wind;  the  swan's-down  cloak  hid  her 
body  like  a  cloud.  In  a  second  he  was  galloping  at  her 
bridle-rein  ;  and  both  horses,  nose  to  nose  and  neck 
to  neck,  pounded  across  the  gravel  drive,  wheeled, 
leaped  forward,  and  plunged  down  the  soft  wood  road, 
straight  into  the  heart  of  the  forest.  The  lace  from  her 
corsage  fluttered  in  the  air ;  the  lilies  at  her  breast  fell 
one  by  one,  strewing  the  road  with  white  blossoms. 
The  wind  loosened  her  heavy  hair  to  the  neck,  seized 
it,  twisted  it,  and  flung  it  out  on  the  wind.  Under 
the  clusters  of  ribbon  on  her  shoulders  there  was  a 
gleam  of  ivory ;  her  long  gloves  slipped  to  the  wrists ; 
her  hair  whipped  the  rounded  arms,  bare  and  white 
below  the  riotous  ribbons,  snapping  and  fluttering 
on  her  shoulders ;  her  cloak  unclasped  at  the  throat 
and  whirled  to  the  ground,  trampled  into  the  forest 
mould. 

They  struck  a  man  in  the  darkness  ;  they  heard 
him  shriek ;  the  horses  staggered  an  instant,  that  was 
all,  except  a  gasp  from  the  girl,  bending  with  whitened 
cheeks  close  to  her  horse's  mane. 


48  LORRAINE  ! 

"  Look  out!  A  lantern! — close  ahead!"  panted 
Marclie. 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  revolver  cut  him  short,  his 
horse  leaped  forward,  the  blood  spurting  from  its 
neck. 

"  Are  you  hit  ?"  he  cried. 

"No!  no!     Eide!" 

Again  and  again,  but  fainter  and  fainter,  came  the 
crack  !  crack  !  of  the  revolver,  like  a  long  whip  snapped 
in  the  wind. 

"  Are  you  hit  ?"  he  asked  again. 

"  Yes,  it  is  nothing  !     Bide  !" 

In  the  darkness  and  confusion  of  the  plunging 
horses  he  managed  to  lean  over  to  her  where  she  bent 
in  her  saddle ;  and,  on  one  white,  round  shoulder,  he 
saw  the  crimson  welt  of  a  bullet,  from  which  the  blood 
was  welling  up  out  of  the  satin  skin. 

And  now,  in  the  gloom,  the  park  wall  loomed  up 
along  the  river,  and  he  shouted  for  the  lodge-keeper, 
rising  in  his  stirrups ;  but  the  iron  gate  swung  wide, 
and  the  broad,  empty  avenue  stretched  up  to  the 
Chateau. 

They  galloped  up  to  the  door ;  he  slipped  from  his 
horse,  swung  Lorraine  to  the  ground,  and  sprang  up 
the  low  steps.  The  door  was  open,  the  long  hall 
brilliantly  lighted. 

"  It  is  I — Lorraine  I"  cried  the  girl.  A  tall,  bearded 
man  burst  in  from  a  room  on  the  left,  clutching  a 
fowling-piece. 

' '  Lorraine  !  They've  got  the  box  !  The  balloon 
secret  was  in  it  V  he  groaned  ;  "  they  are  in  the  house 
yet —  He  stared  wildly  at  Marche,  then  at  his 
daughter.  His  face  was  discoloured  with  bruises,  his 


COWARDS  AND  THEIR    COURAGE  49 

thick,  blond  hair  fell  in  disorder  across  steel-bine  eyes 
that  gleamed  with  fury. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  there  came  a  crash 
of  glass,  a  heavy  fall  from  the  porch,  and  then  a 
shot. 

In  an  instant  Marche  was  at  the  door ;  he  saw  a 
game -keeper  raise  his  gun  and  aim  at  him,  and  he 
shrank  back  as  the  report  roared  in  his  ears. 

<(  You  fool  I"  he  shouted ;  "  don't  shoot  at  me  !  drop 
your  gun  and  follow  I"  He  jumped  to  the  ground 
and  started  across  the  garden  where  a  dark  figure 
was  clutching  the  wall  and  trying  to  climb  to  the  top. 
He  was  too  late — the  man  was  over ;  but  he  followed, 
jumped,  caught  the  tiled  top,  and  hurled  himself 
headlong  into  the  bushes  below. 

Close  to  him  a  man  started  from  the  thicket,  and 
ran  down  the  wet  road — splash  !  -splash  !  slop  !  slop  ! 
through  the  puddles ;  but  Marche  caught  him  and 
dragged  him  down  into  the  mud,  where  they  rolled 
and  thrashed  and  spattered  and  struck  each  other. 
Twice  the  man  tore  away  and  struggled  to  his  feet, 
and  twice  Marche  fastened  to  his  knees  until  the  huge, 
lumbering  body  swayed  and  fell  again.  It  might 
have  gone  hard  with  Jack,  for  the  man  suddenly 
dropped  the  steel  box  he  was  clutching  to  his  breast 
and  fell  upon  the  young  fellow  with  a  sullen  roar. 
His  knotted,  wiry  fingers  had  already  found  Jack's 
throat ;  he  lifted  the  young  fellow's  head  and  strove 
to  break  his  neck.  Then,  in  a  flash,  he  leaped  back 
and  lifted  a  heavy  stone  from  the  wall ;  at  the  same  in 
stant  somebody  fired  at  him  from  the  wall ;  he  wheeled 
and  sprang  into  the  woods. 

That  was  all  Jack  Marche  knew  until  a  lantern 


60  LORRAINE ! 

flared  in  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  Lorraine's  father,  bright- 
eyed,  feverish,  dishevelled,  beside  him. 

"  Kaise  him  I"  said  a  voice  that  he  knew  was  Lor 
raine's. 

They  lifted  Jack  to  his  knees ;  he  stumbled  to  his 
feet,  torn,  bloody,  filthy  with  mnd,  but  in  his  arms, 
clasped  tight,  was  the  steel  box,  intact. 

"  Lorraine  ! — my  box  ! — look  !"  cried  her  father,  and 
the  lantern  shook  in  his  hands  as  he  clutched  the 
casket. 

But  Lorraine  stepped  forward  and  flung  both  arms 
around  Jack  Marche's  neck. 

Her  face  was  deadly  pale  ;  the  blood  oozed  from  the 
wounded  shoulder.  For  the  first  time  her  father  saw 
that  she  had  been  shot.  He  stared  at  her,  clutching 
the  steel  box  in  his  nervous  hands. 

With  all  the  strength  she  had  left  she  crushed  Jack 
to  her  and  kissed  him.  Then,  weak  with  the  loss  of 
blood,  she  leaned  on  her  father, 

"  I  am  going  to  faint,"  she  whispered ;  "  help  me, 
father." 


VI 

TRAINS   EAST   AND   WEST 

IT  was  dawn  when  Jack  Marche  galloped  into  the 
court-yard  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn  and  wearily  dis 
mounted.  People  were  already  moving  about  the 
upper  floors ;  servants  stared  at  him  as  he  climbed 
the  steps  to  the  terrace ;  his  face  was  scratched,  his 
clothes  smeared  with  caked  mud  and  blood. 

He  went  straight  to  his  chamber,  tore  off  his  clothes, 
took  a  hasty  plunge  in  a  cold  tub,  and  rubbed  his  ach 
ing  limbs  until  they  glowdd.  Then  he  dressed  rapid 
ly,  donned  his  riding  breeches  and  boots,  slipped  a  re 
volver  into  his  pocket,  and  went  down -stairs,  where 
he  could  already  hear  the  others  at  breakfast. 

Very  quietly  and  modestly  he  told  his  story  between 
sips  of  cafe-au-lait. 

"You  see,"  he  ended,  "that  the  country  is  full  of 
spies,  who  hesitate  at  nothing.  There  were  three  or 
four  of  them  who  tried  to  rob  the  Chateau  ;  they  seem 
perfectly  possessed  to  get  at  the  secrets  of  the  Marquis 
de  Nesville's  balloons.  There  is  no  doubt  but  that 
for  months  past  they  have  been  making  maps  of  the 
whole  region  in  most  minute  detail ;  they  have  evi 
dently  been  expecting  this  war  for  a  long  time.  Inci 
dentally,  now  that  war  is  declared,  they  have  opened 
hostilities  on  their  own  account." 


52  LORRAINE  I 

"  You  did  for  some  of  them  ?"  asked  Sir  Thorald, 
who  had  been  fidgeting  and  staring  at  Jack  through 
a  gold-edged  monocle. 

"No — I — we  rode  down  and  trampled  a  man  in 
the  dark  ;  I  should  think  it  would  have  been  enough 
to  brain  him,  but  when  I  galloped  back  just  now 
he  was  gone,  and  I  don't  know  how  badly  he  was 
hit/' 

"  But  the  fellow  that  started  to  smash  you  with  a 
paving-stone — the  Marquis  de  Nesville  fired  at  him, 
didn't  he  ?"  insisted  Sir  Thorald. 

' i  Yes,  I  think  he  hit  him,  but  it  was  a  long  shot. 
Lorraine  was  superb — ' 

He  stopped,  colouring  up  a  little. 

"She  did  it  all,"  he  resumed — "she  rode  through 
the  woods  like  a  whirlwind  !  Good  heavens  !  I  never 
saw  such  a  cyclone  incarnate  !  And  her  pluck  when 
she  was  hit ! — and  then  very  quietly  she  went  to  her 
father  and  fainted  in  his  arms." 

Jack  had  not  told  all  that  had  happened.  The  part 
that  he  had  not  told  was  the  part  that  he  thought  of 
most  —  Lorraine's  white  arms  around  his  neck  and 
the  touch  of  her  innocent  lips  on  his  forehead.  In 
silent  consternation  the  young  people  listened  ;  Dor 
othy  slipped  out  of  her  chair  and  came  and  rested 
her  hands  on  her  brother's  shoulder;  Betty  Castle- 
maine  looked  at  Cecil  with  large,  questioning  eyes  that 
asked,  "  Would  you  do  something  heroic  for  me  ?" 
and  Cecil's  eyes  replied,  "  Oh,  for  a  chance  to  annihi 
late  a  couple  of  regiments  !"  This  pleased  Betty,  and 
she  ate  a  muffin  with  appreciation.  The  old  vicomte 
leaned  heavily  on  his  elbow  and  looked  at  his  wife, 
who  sat  opposite,  pallid  and  eating  nothing.  He  hud 


TRAINS  EAST  AND  WEST  53 

decided  to  remain  at  Morteyn,  but  this  episode  dis 
quieted  him — not  on  his  own  account. 

"  Helen/'  he  said,  "  Jack  and  I  will  stay,  but  you 
must  go  with  the  children.  There  is  no  danger — 
there  can  be  no  invasion,  for  our  troops  will  be  pass 
ing  here  by  night ;  I  only  wish  to  be  sure  that — that 
in  case — in  case  things  should  go  dreadfully  wrong, 
you  would  not  be  compelled  to  witness  anything  un 
pleasant." 

Madame  de  Morteyn  shook  her  head  gently. 

"Why  speak  of  it?"  she  said;  "you  know  I  will 
not  go." 

"Til  stay,  too,"  said  Sir  Thorald,  eagerly;  "Cecil 
and  Molly  can  take  the  children  to  Paris ;  Madame 
de  Morteyn,  you  really  should  go  also." 

She  leaned  back  and  shook  her  head  decisively. 

"Then  you  will  both  come,  you  and  Madame  de 
Morteyn  ?"  urged  Lady  Hesketh  of  the  vicomte. 

The  old  man  hesitated.  His  wife  smiled.  She 
knew  he  could  not  leave  in  the  face  of  the  enemy ; 
she  had  been  the  wife  of  this  old  African  campaigner 
for  thirty  years,  and  she  knew  what  she  knew. 

"Helen — "  he  began. 

"  Yes,  dear,  we  will  both  stay  ;  the  city  is  too  hot 
in  July,"  she  said  ;  "  Sir  Thorald,  some  coffee  ?  No 
more?  Bett}7,  you  want  another  muffin? — they  are 
there  by  Cecil.  Children,  I  think  I  hear  the  car- 
"riages  coming ;  you  must  not  make  Lady  Hesketh 
wait." 

"I  have  half  a  mind  to  stay,"  said  Molly  Hes 
keth.  Sir  Thorald  said  she  might  if  she  wanted  to 
enlist,  and  they  all  tried  to  smile,  but  the  sickly  gray 
of  early  morning,  sombre,  threatening,  fell  on  face? 


54  LORKAINE  ! 

haggard  with  foreboding — young  faces,  too,  lighted 
by  the  pale  flames  of  the  candles. 

Alixe  von  Elster  and  Barbara  Lisle  went  first ;  there 
were  tears  and  embraces,  and  au  revoirs  and  aufwie- 
dersehens. 

Little  Alixe  blanched  and  trembled  when  Sir  Tho- 
rald  bent  over  her,  not  entirely  unconscious  of  the 
havoc  his  drooping  mustache  and  cynical  eyes  had 
made  in  her  credulous  German  bosom.  Molly  Hes- 
keth  kissed  her,  wishing  that  she  could  pinch  her ; 
and  so  they  left,  tearful,  anxious,  to  be  driven  to 
Courtenay,  and  whirled  from  there  across  the  Rhine 
to  Cologne. 

Sir  Thorald  and  Lady  Hesketh  lingered  on  the 
terrace  after  the  others  had  returned  to  the  breakfast- 
room. 

"  Thorald,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  brute  I" 

"Eh?"  cried  Sir  Thorald. 

"  You're  a  brute  I" 

"  Molly,  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter*?" 

"Nothing  —  if  you  ever  see  her  again,  Fll  tell 
Ricky." 

"  I  might  say  the  same  thing  in  regard  to  Ricky, 
my  dear,"  said  Sir  Thorald,  mildly. 

te  It  is  not  true,"  she  said ;  "  I  did  no  damage  to 
him ;  and  you  know — you  know  down  in  the  depths 
of  your  fickle  soul  that — that — " 

"  What,  rny  dear  ?" 

"Never  mind  !"  said  Molly,  sharply;  but  she  crim 
soned  when  he  kissed  her,  and  held  tightly  to  his 
sleeve. 

"  Good  ged  !"  thought  Sir  Thorald;  "  what  a  devil 
I  am  with  women  !" 


TRAINS    EAST  AND   WEST  65 

But  now  the  carriages  drove  up — coupes,  dog-carts, 
and  a  victoria. 

"  They  say  we  ought  not  to  miss  this  train,"  said 
Cecil,  coming  from  the  stables  and  flourishing  a  whip  ; 
' '  they  say  the  line  may  be  seized  for  government  use 
exclusively  in  a  few  hours." 

The  old  house-keeper,  Madame  Paillard,  nodded  and 
pointed  to  her  son,  the  under-keeper. 

"  Fran9ois  says,  Monsieur  Page,  that  six  trains 
loaded  with  troops  passed  through  Saint  -  Lys  be 
tween  midnight  and  dawn ;  dis,  Francois,  c'est  le 
Sieur  Bosz  qui  t'a  renseigne — pas  ?" 

"  Oui,  mamam  !" 

"Then  hurry,"  said  Lady  Hesketh.  "  Thorald, 
call  the  others." 

"I,"  said  Cecil,  "am  going  to  drive  Betty  in  the 
dog-cart. " 

"  She'll  probably  take  the  reins,"  said  Sir  Thorald, 
cynically. 

Cecil  brandished  his  whip  and  looked  determined ; 
but  it  was  Betty  who  drove  him  to  Saint-Lys  station, 
after  all. 

The  adieux  were  said,  even  more  tearfully  this  time. 
Jack  kissed  his  sister  tenderly,  and  she  wept  a  little 
on  his  shoulder — thinking  of  Rickerl. 

One  by  one  the  vehicles  rolled  away  down  the  gravel 
drive ;  and  last  of  all  came  Molly  Hesketh  in  the 
co ape  with  Jack  Marche. 

Molly  was  sad  and  a  trifle  distraite.  Those  peri 
odical  mental  illuminations  during  which  she  discov 
ered  for  the  thousandth  and  odd  time  that  she  loved 
her  husband  usually  left  her  fairly  innocuous.  But 
she  was  a  born  flirt ;  the  virus  was  bred  in  the  bone, 


56  LORRAINE  ! 

and  after  the  first  half-mile  she  opened  her  batteries— 
her  eyes — as  a  matter  of  coarse  on  Jack. 

What  she  got  for  her  pains  was  a  little  sermon  end 
ing,  "  See  here,  Molly — three  years  ago  you  played 
the  devil  with  me  until  I  kissed  you,  and  then  you 
were  furious  and  threatened  to  tell  Sir  Thorald.  The 
truth  is,  you're  in  love  with  him,  and  there  is  no  more 
harm  in  you  than  there  is  in  a  china  kitten." 

"  Jack  I"  she  gasped. 

"And,"  he  resumed,  "you  live  in  Paris,  and  you 
see  lots  of  things  and  you  hear  lots  of  things  that  you 
don't  hear  and  see  in  Lincolnshire.  But  you're  Brit 
ish,  Molly,  and  you  are  domestic,  although  you  hate 
the  idea,  and  there  will  never  be  a  desolated  hearth 
in  the  Hesketh  household  as  long  as  you  speak  }rour 
mother-tongue  and  read  Anthony  Trollope." 

The  rest  of  the  road  was  traversed  in  silence.  They 
rattled  over  the  stones  in  the  single  street  of  Saint- 
Lys,  rolled  into  the  gravel  oval  behind  the  Gare,  and 
drew  up  amid  a  hubbub  of  restless  teams,  market- 
wagons,  and  station-trucks. 

"  See  the  soldiers  !"  said  Jack,  lifting  Lady  Tles- 
keth  to  the  platform,  where  the  others  were  already 
gathered  in  a  circle.  A  train  was  just  gliding  out 
of  the  station,  bound  eastward,  and  from  every  win 
dow  red  caps  projected  and  sunburned,  boyish  faces 
expanded  into  grins  as  they  saw  Lady  Heskelh  and 
her  charges. 

"  Vive  1'Angleterre  !"  they  cried.  "  Vive  Madame 
la  Reine  !  Vive  Johnbull  et  son  rosbif !"  the  latter 
observation  aimed  at  Sir  Thorald. 

Sir  Thorald  waved  his  eye-glass  to  them  conde 
scendingly  ;  faster  and  faster  moved  the  train  :  the 


TRAINS  EAST  AND  WEST  57 

red  caps  and  fresh,  tanned  faces,  the  laughing  eyes 
became  a  blur  and  then  a  streak  ;  and  far  down  the 
glistening  track  the  faint  cheers  died  away  and  were 
drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  wheels  —  little  whirling 
wheels  that  were  bearing  them  merrily  to  their  graves 
at  Wissembourg. 

"Here  comes  onr  train,"  said  Cecil.  "Jack,  my 
boy,  you'll  probably  see  some  fun ;  take  care  of  your 
hide,  old  chap  I"  He  didn't  mean  to  be  patronizing, 
but  he  had  Betty  demurely  leaning  on  his  arm,  and — 
dear  me  ! — how  could  he  help  patronizing  the  other 
poor  devils  in  the  world  who  had  not  Betty,  and  who 
never  could  have  Betty  ? 

"Montez,  madame,  s'il  vous  plait !  —  Montez,  mes 
sieurs  !"  cried  the  Chef  de  Gare ;  "last  train  for  Paris 
until  AYednesday  !  All  aboard  I"  and  he  slammed  and 
locked  the  doors,  while  the  engineer,  leaning  impa 
tiently  from  his  cab,  looked  back  along  the  line  of 
cars  and  blew  his  whistle  warningly. 

"  Good-by,  Dorrie  \"  cried  Jack. 

"Good -by,  my  darling  Jack!  Be  careful;  you 
will,  won't  you  ?"  But  she  was  still  thinking  of 
Eickerl,  bless  her  little  heart ! 

Lady  Hesketh  waved  him  a  demure  adieu  from  the 
open  window,  relented,  and  gave  his  hand  a  hasty 
squeeze  with  her  gloved  fingers. 

"  Take  care  of  Lorraine,"  she  said,  solemnly ;  then 
laughed  at  his  telltale  eyes,  and  leaned  back  on  her 
husband's  shoulder,  still  laughing. 

The  cars  were  gliding  more  swiftly  past  the  plat 
form  now ;  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Betty  kissing  her 
hand  to  him,  of  Cecil  bestowing  a  gracious  adieu,  of 
Sir  Thorald's  eye-glass — then  they  were  gone ;  and  far 


68  LORRAINE  ! 

up  the  tracks  the  diminishing  end  of  the  last  car 
dwindled  to  a  dark  square,  a  spot,  a  dot,  and  was  in 
gulfed  in  a  flurry  of  dust.  As  he  turned  away  and 
passed  along  the  platform  to  the  dog-cart,  there  came 
a  roar,  a  shriek  of  a  locomotive,  a  rush,  and  a  train 
swept  by  towards  the  east,  leaving  a  blear  of  scarlet 
in  his  eyes,  and  his  ears  ringing  with  the  soldiers' 
cheers :  "Vive  la  France  !  Vive  1'Empereur !  A  Ber 
lin  !  A  Berlin  !  A  Berlin  \"  A  furtive-eyed  young 
peasant  beside  him  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Bismarck  has  called  for  the  menu ;  his  cannon  are 
hungry,"  he  sneered  ;  "there  goes  the  bill  of  fare." 

"  That's  very  funny,"  said  a  fierce  little  man  with  a 
gray  mustache,  ' '  but  the  bill  of  fare  isn't  complete — 
the  class  of  '71  has  just  been  called  out !"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  placard  freshly  pasted  on  the  side  of  the 
station. 

"The  — the  class  of  '71  ?"  muttered  the  furtive- 
eyed  peasant,  turning  livid. 

"  Exactly — the  bill  of  fare  needs  the  hors  d'oeuvres  ; 
you'll  go  as  an  olive,  and  probably  come  back  a  sar 
dine — in  a  box." 

And  the  fierce  little  man  grinned,  lighted  a  ciga 
rette,  and  sauntered  away,  still  grinning. 

What  did  he  care  ?    He  was  a  pompier  and  exempt. 


VII 

THE    ROAD   TO   PAEADISE 

THE  road  between  Saint-Lys  and  Morteyn  was  not 
a  military  road,  but  it  was  firm  and  smooth,  and  Jack 
drove  back  again  towards  the  Chateau  at  a  smart  trot, 
flicking  at  leaves  and  twigs  with  Cecil's  whip. 

The  sun  had  brushed  the  veil  of  rain  from  the  hori 
zon  ;  the  leaves,  fresh  and  tender,  stirred  and  sparkled 
with  dew  in  the  morning  breeze,  and  all  the  air  was 
sweet-scented.  In  the  stillness  of  the  fields,  where 
wheat  stretched  along  the  road  like  a  green  river 
tinged  with  gold,  there  was  something  that  troubled 
him.  Silence  is  oppressive  to  sinners  and  prophets. 
He  concluded  he  was  the  former,  and  sighed  restless 
ly,  looking  out  across  the  fields,  where,  deep  in  the 
stalks  of  the  wheat,  blood-red  poppies  opened  like  raw 
wounds.  At  other  times  he  had  compared  them  to 
little  fairy  camp-fires ;  but  his  mood  was  pessimistic, 
and  he  saw,  in  the  furrows  that  the  plough  had  raised, 
the  scars  on  the  breast  of  a  tortured  earth  ;  and  he 
read  sermons  in  bundles  of  fresh  -  cut  fagots ;  and 
death  was  written  where  a  sickle  lay  beside  a  pile  of 
grass,  crisping  to  hay  in  the  splendid  sun  of  Lorraine. 

What  he  did  not  see  were  the  corn-flowers  peeping 
at  him  with  dewy  blue  eyes  ;  the  vineyards,  where 
the  fruit  hung  faintly  touched  with  bloom ;  the  field 


60  LORRAINE  ! 

birds,  the  rosy-breasted  finches,  the  thrush,  as  speckled 
as  her  own  eggs — no,  nor  did  he  hear  them ;  for  the 
silence  that  weighed  on  his  heart  came  from  his  heart. 
Yet  all  the  summer  wind  was  athrill  with  harmony. 
Thousands  of  feathered  throats  swelled  and  bubbled 
melody,  from  the  clouds  to  the  feathery  heath,  from 
the  scintillating  azure  in  the  zenith  to  the  roots  of 
the  glittering  wheat  where  the  corn-flowers  lay  like 
bits  of  blue  sky  fallen  to  the  earth. 

As  he  drove  he  thought  of  Lorraine,  of  her  love 
for  her  father  and  her  goodness.  He  already  recog 
nized  that  dominant  passion  in  her,  her  unselfish  ado 
ration  of  her  father — a  father  who  sat  all  day  behind 
bolted  doors  trifling  with  metals  and  gases  and  little 
spinning,  noiseless  wheels.  The  selfish  to  the  unself 
ish,  the  dead  to  the  living,  the  dwarf  to  the  giant, 
and  the  sinner  to  the  saint — this  is  the  world  and 
they  that  dwell  therein. 

He  thought  of  her  as  he  had  seen  her  last,  smiling 
up  into  the  handsome,  bearded  face  that  questioned 
her.  No,  the  wound  was  nothing — a  little  blood  lost — 
enough  to  make  her  faint  at  his  feet  —  that  was  all. 
But  his  precious  box  was  safe — and  she  had  flung  her 
loyal  arms  about  the  man  who  saved  it  and  had  kissed 
him  before  her  father,  because  he  had  secured  what 
was  dearer  to  her  than  life — her  father's  happiness — 
a  little  metal  box  full  of  it. 

Her  father  was  very  grateful  and  very  solicitous 
about  her  wounded  shoulder;  but  he  opened  his  box 
before  he  thought  about  bandages.  Everything  was 
intact,  except  the  conservatory  window  and  his  daugh 
ter's  shoulder.  Both  could  be  mended — but  his  box! 
ah,  that,  if  lost,  could  never  be  replaced. 


THIS    ROAD  TO  PARADISE  6i 

Jack's  throat  was  hard  and  dry.  A  lump  came  into 
it,  and  he  swallowed  with  a  shrug,  and  flicked  at  a  fly 
on  the  headstall.  A  vision  of  Sir  Thorald,  bending 
over  little  Alixe,  came  hefore  his  eyes.  "  Pah  !"  he 
mut-tered,  in  disgust.  Sir  Thorald  was  one  of  those 
men  who  cease  to  care  for  a  woman  when  she  begins 
to  care  for  them.  Jack  knew  it ;  that  was  why  he 
had  been  so  gentle  with  Molly  Hesketh,  who  had 
turned  his  head  when  he  was  a  boy  and  given  him  his 
first  emotions — passion,  hate — and  then  knowledge  ; 
for  of  all  the  deep  emotions  that  a  man  shall  know 
before  he  dies  the  first  consciousness  of  knowledge  is 
the  most  profound;  it  sounds  the  depths  of  heaven 
and  hell  in  the  space  of  time  that  the  heart  beats 
twice. 

He  was  passing  through  the  woods  now,  the  lovely 
oak  and  beech  woods  of  Lorraine.  An  ancient  dame, 
bending  her  crooked  back  beneath  a  load  of  fagots, 
gave  him  ^God  bless  you  \"  and  he  drew  rein  and 
returned  the  gift — but  his  was  in  silver,  with  the  head 
of  his  imperial  majesty  stamped  on  one  side. 

As  he  drove,  rabbits  ran  back  into  the  woods,  hoist 
ing  their  white  signals  of  conciliation.  "  Peace  and 
good  will "  they  seemed  to  read,  "  but  a  wise  rabbit 
takes  to  the  woods."  Pheasants,  too,  stepped  daintily 
from  under  the  filbert  bushes,  twisting  their  gorgeous 
necks  curiously  as  he  passed.  Once,  in  the  hollow  of 
a  gorge  where  a  little  stream  trickled  under  layers  of 
wet  leaves,  he  saw  a  wild-boar  standing  hock-deep  in 
the  ooze,  rooting  under  mosses  and  rotten  branches, 
absorbed  in  his  rooting.  Twice  deer  leaped  from  the 
young  growth  on  the  edge  of  the  fields  and  bounded 
lazily  into  denser  cover,  only  to  stop  when  half  con- 


62  LORRAINE  ! 

cealed  and  stare  back  at  him  with  gentle,  curious 
eyes.  The  horse  pricked  up  his  ears  at  such  times 
and  introduced  a  few  waltz  steps  into  his  steady  if 
monotonous  repertoire,  but  Jack  let  him  have  his 
fling,  thinking  that  the  deer  were  as  tame  as  the  horse, 
and  both  were  tamer  than  man. 

Excepting  the  black  panther,  man  has  learned  his 
lesson  slowest  of  all,  the  lesson  of  acquiescence  in  the 
inevitable. 

"Til  never  learn  it,"  said  Jack,  aloud.  His  voice 
startled  him — it  was  trembling. 

Lorraine  !  Lorraine  !  Life  has  begun  for  a  very 
young  man.  Teach  him  to  see  and  bring  him  to  ac 
cept  existence  in  the  innocence  of  your  knowledge  ; 
for,  if  he  and  the  world  collide,  he  fears  the  result 
to  the  world. 

A  few  moments  later  he  drove  into  Paradise,  which 
is  known  to  some  as  the  Chateau  de  Nesville. 


VIII 

UKDER  THE   YOKE 

the  next  two  weeks  Jack  Marche  drove  into 
Paradise  fourteen  times,  and  fourteen  times  he  drove 
out  of  Paradise,  back  to  the  Chateau  Morteyn.  Heav 
en  is  nearer  than  people  suppose  ;  it -was  three  miles 
from  the  road  shrine  at  Morteyn. 

Our  Lady  of  Morteyn,,  sculptured  in  the  cold  stone 
above  the  shrine,  had  looked  with  her  wide  stone  eyes 
on  many  lovers,  and  had  known  they  were  lovers  be 
cause  their  piety  was  as  sudden  as  it  was  fervid. 

Twice  a  day  Jack's  riding-cap  was  reverently  doffed 
as  he  drew  bridle  before  the  shrine,  going  and  coming 
from  Paradise. 

At  evening,  too,  when  the  old  vicomte  slept  on  his 
pillow  and  the  last  light  went  out  in  the  stables,  Our 
Lady  of  Morteyn  saw  a  very  young  man  sitting,  with 
his  head  in  his  hands,  at  her  feet;  and  he  took  no 
harm  from  the  cold  stones,  because  Our  Lady  of 
Morteyn  is  gentle  and  gracious,  and  the  summer 
nights  were  hot  in  the  province  of  Lorraine. 

There  had  been  little  stir  or  excitement  in  Morteyn. 
Even  in  Saint-Lys,  where  all  day  and  all  night  the 
troop-trains  rushed  by,  the  cheers  of  the  war-bound 
soldiers  leaning  from  the  flying  cars  were  becoming 
monotonous  in  the  ears  of  the  sober  villagers.  When 


64  LORRAINE  ! 

the  long,  flat  cars,  piled  with  cannon,  passed,  the  peo 
ple  stared  at  the  slender  guns,  mute,  canvas-covered, 
tilted  skyward.  They  stared,  too,  at  the  barred  cars, 
rolling  past  in  interminable  trains,  loaded  with  horses 
and  canvas -jacketed  troopers  who  peered  between 
the  slats  and  shouted  to  the  women  in  the  street. 
Other  trains  came  and  went,  trains  weighted  with 
bellowing  cattle  or  huddled  sheep,  trains  choked  with 
small  square  boxes  marked  "  Cartouches"  or  "  Obus— 
7me";  trains  piled  high  with  grain  or  clothing,  or 
folded  tents  packed  between  varnished  poles  and  piles 
of  tin  basins.  Once  a  little  excitement  came  to 
Saint -Lys  when  a  battalion  of  red-legged  infantry 
tramped  into  the  village  square  and  stacked  rifles  and 
jeered  at  the  mayor  and  drank  many  bottles  of  red 
wine  to  the  health  of  the  shy-eyed  girls  peeping  at 
them  from  every  lattice.  But  they  were  only  waiting 
for  the  next  train,  and  when  it  came  their  bugles 
echoed  from  the  bridge  to  the  square,  and  they  went 
away — went  where  the  others  had  gone — laughing, 
singing,  cheering  from  the  car -windows,  where  the 
sun  beat  down  on  their  red  caps,  and  set  their  but 
tons  glittering  like  a  million  swarming  fire-flies. 

The  village  life,  the  daily  duties,  the  dull  routine 
from  the  vineyard  to  the  grain -field,  and  from  the 
etang  to  the  forest  had  not  changed  in  Saint-Lys. 

There  might  be  war  somewhere ;  it  would  never 
come  to  Saint-Lys.  There  might  be  death,  yonder 
towards  the  Ehine — probably  beyond  it,  far  beyond  it. 
What  of  it  ?  Death  conies  to  all,  but  it  comes  slowly 
in  Saint-Lys  ;  and  the  days  are  long,  and  one  must  eat 
to  live,  arid  there  is  much  to  be  done  between  the  ris 
ing  and  the  setting  of  a  peasant's  sun. 


UNDER  THE   YOKE  66 

There,  below  in  Paris,  were  wise  heads  and  many 
soldiers.  They,  in  Paris,  knew  what  to  do,  and  the 
war  might  begin  and  end  with  nothing  but  a  soiled 
newspaper  in  the  Cafe  Saint-Lys  to  show  for  it — as 
far  as  the  people  of  Saint-Lys  knew. 

True,  at  the  summons  of  the  mayor,  the  National 
Guard  of  Saint-Lys  mustered  in  the  square,  seven 
strong  and  a  bugler.  This  was,  merely  a  display  of 
force  —  it  meant  nothing  —  but  let  those  across  the 
Rhine  beware  ! 

The  fierce  little  man  with  the  gray  mustache,  who 
was  named  Tricasse,  and  who  commanded  the  Saint- 
Lys  Pompiers,  spoke  gravely  of  Francs  -  corps,  and 
drank  too  much  eau-de-vie  every  evening.  But  these 
warlike  ebullitions  simmered  away  peacefully  in  the 
sunshine,  and  the  tranquil  current  of  life  flowed  as 
smoothly  through  Saint-Lys  as  the  river  Lisse  itself, 
limpid,  noiseless,  under  the  village  bridge. 

Only  one  man  had  left  the  village,  and  that  was 
Brun,  the  furtive-eyed  young  peasant,  the  sole  repre 
sentative  in  Saint-Lys  of  the  conscript  class  of  1871. 
And  he  would  never  have  gone  had  not  a  gendarme 
pulled  him  from  under  his  mother's  bed  and  hustled 
him  on  to  the  first  Paris-bound  train,  which  happened 
to  be  a  cattle  train,  where  Brun  mingled  his  lamenta 
tions  with  the  bleating  of  sheep  and  the  desolate  bel 
low  of  thirsty  cows. 

Jack  Marche  heard  of  these  things  but  saw  little 
of  them.  The  great  war  wave  rolling  through  the 
provinces  towards  the  Rhine  skirted  them  at  Saint- 
Lys,  and  scarcely  disturbed  them.  They  heard  that 
Douay  was  marching  through  the  country  somewhere, 
gome  said  towards  AVissembourg,  some  said  towards 


66  LORRAINE  ! 

Saarbriick.  But  these  towns  were  names  to  the  peas 
ants  of  Saint-Lys — tant  pis  for  the  two  towns  !  And 
General  Douay — who -was  he?  Probably  a  fat  man 
in  red  breeches  and  polished  boots,,  wearing  a  cocked- 
hat  and  a  cross  on  his  breast.  Anyway,  they  would 
chase  the  Prussians  and  kill  a  few,  as  they  had  chased 
the  Russians  in  the  Crimea,  and  the  Italians  in  Rome, 
and  the  Kabyles  in  Oran.  The  result  ?  Nothing  but 
a  few  new  colours  for  the  ribbons  in  their  sweethearts' 
hair — like  that  pretty  Magenta  and  Solferino  and  Se- 
bastopol  gray.  "  Fichtre  !  Faut-il  gaspiller  tout  de 
ineme  !  mais,  a  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre  I"  which 
meant  nothing  in  Saint-Lys. 

It  meant  more  to  Jack  Marche,  riding  one  sultry 
afternoon  through  the  woods,  idly  drumming  on  his 
spurred  boots  with  a  battered  riding- crop. 

It  was  his  daily  afternoon  ride  to  the  Chateau  de 
Nesville ;  the  shy  wood  creatures  were  beginning  to 
know  him,  even  the  younger  rabbits  of  the  most  re 
cent  generation  sat  up  and  mumbled  their  prehensile 
lips,  watching  him  with  large,  moist  eyes.  As  for 
the  red  squirrels  in  the  chestnut-trees,  and  the  dap 
pled  deer  in  the  carrefours,  and  the  sulky  boars  that 
bristled  at  him  from  the  overgrown  sentiers,  they 
accepted  him  on  condition  that  he  kept  to  the  road. 
And  he  did,  head  bent,  thoughtful  eyes  fixed  on  his 
saddle-bow,  drumming  absently  with  his  riding-crop 
on  his  spurred  boots,  his  bridle  loose  on  his  horse^s 
neck. 

There  was  little  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  ride ; 
a  sudden  gush  of  song  from  a  spotted  thrush,  the  rus 
tle  of  a  pheasant  in  the  brake,  perhaps  the  modest 
greeting  of  a  rare  keeper  patrolling  his  beat—nothing 


UNDEK  THE    YOKE  67 

more.  He  went  armed ;  he  carried  a  long  Colt's  six- 
shooter  in  his  holster,  not  because  he  feared  for  his 
own  skin,  but  he  thought  it  just  as  well  to  be  ready 
in  case  of  trouble  at  the  Chateau  de  Nesville.  How 
ever,  he  did  not  fear  trouble  again ;  the  French  ar 
mies  were  moving  everywhere  on  the  frontier,  and  the 
spies,  of  course,  had  long  ago  betaken  themselves  and 
their  projects  to  the  other  bank  of  the  Khine. 

The  Marquis  de  JSTesville  himself  felt  perfectly  se 
cure,  now  that  the  attempt  had  been  made  and  had 
failed. 

He  told  Jack  so  on  the  few  occasions  when  he  de 
scended  from  his  room  during  the  young  fellow's  vis 
its.  He  made  not  the  slightest  objections  to  Jack's 
seeing  Lorraine  when  and  where  he  pleased,  and  this 
very  un-Gallic  behaviour  puzzled  Jack  until  he  began 
to  comprehend  the  depths  of  the  man's  selfish  ab 
sorption  in  his  balloons.  It  was  more  than  absorp 
tion,  it  was  mania  pure  and  simple,  an  absolute  ina 
bility  to  see  or  hear  or  think  or  understand  anything 
except  his  own  devices  in  the  little  bolted  chamber 
above. 

He  did  care  for  Lorraine  to  the  extent  of  providing 
for  her  every  want — he  did  remember  her  existence 
when  he  wanted  something  himself.  Also  it  was  true 
Ciat  he  would  not  have  permitted  a  Frenchman  to 
visit  Lorraine  as  Jack  did.  He  hated  two  persons ; 
one  of  these  was  Jack's  uncle,  the  Vicomte  de  Mor- 
teyn.  On  the  other  hand,  he  admired  him,  too,  be 
cause  the  vicomte,  like  himself,  was  a  royalist  and 
shunned  the  Tuileries  as  the  devil  shuns  holy  water. 
Therefore  he  was  his  equal,  and  he  liked  him  because 
he  could  hate  him  without  loss  of  self-respect.  The 


68  LORRAINE! 

reason  he  hated  him  was  this — the  Vicomte  de  M  or- 
teyn  had  pooh-poohed  the  balloons.  That  occurred 
years  ago,  but  he  never  forgot  it,  and  had  never  seen 
the  old  vicomte  since.  Whether  or  not  Lorraine  vis 
ited  the  old  people  at  Morteyn,  he  had  neither  time 
nor  inclination  to  inquire. 

This  was  the  man,  tall,  gentle,  clean-cut  of  limb 
and  feature,  and  bearded  like  Jove  —  this  was  the 
man  to  whom  Lorraine  devoted  her  whole  existence. 
Every  heart-beat  was  for  him,  every  thought,  every 
prayer.  And  she  was  very  devout. 

This  also  was  why  she  came  to  Jack  so  confidently 
and  laid  her  white  hands  in  his  when  he  sprang  from 
his  saddle,  his  heart  in  flames  of  adoration. 

He  knew  this,  he  knew  that  her  undisguised  pleas 
ure  in  his  company  was,  for  her,  only  another  link 
that  welded  her  closer  to  her  father.  At  night,  often, 
when  he  had  ridden  back  again,  he  thought  of  it, 
and  paled  with  resentment.  At  times  he  almost  hated 
her  father.  He  could  have  borne  it  easier  if  the  Mar 
quis  de  Nesville  had  been  a  loving  father,  even  a 
tyrannically  solicitous  father;  but  to  see  such  love 
thrown  before  a  marble  -  faced  man,  whose  expres 
sion  never  changed  except  when  speaking  of  his  im 
becile  machines  !  "  How  can  he  !  How  can  he  !" 
muttered  Jack,  riding  through  the  woods.  His  face 
was  sombre,  almost  stern ;  and  always  he  beat  the 
devil's  tattoo  on  his  boot  with  the  battered  riding- 
crop. 

But  now  he  came  to  the  park  gate,  and  the  keeper 
touched  his  cap  and  smiled,  and  dragged  the  heavy 
grille  back  till  it  creaked  on  its  hinges. 

Lorraine  came  down  the  path  to  meet  him ;  she 


UNDEB  THE  YOKE  69 

had  never  before  done  that,  and  he  brightened  and 
sprang  to  the  ground,  radiant  with  happiness. 

She  had  brought  some  sugar  for  the  horse  ;  the 
beautiful  creature  followed  her,  thrusting  its  soft, 
satin  muzzle  into  her  hand,  ears  pricked  forward, 
wise  eyes  fixed  on  her. 

"  None  for  me  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  Sugar ?" 

With  a  sudden  gesture  she  held  a  lump  out  to  him 
in  the  centre  of  her  pink  palm. 

Before  she  could  withdraw  the  hand  he  had  touched 
it  with  his  lips,  and,  a  little  gravely,  she  withdrew  it 
and  walked  on  in  silence  by  his  side. 

Her  shoulder  had  healed,  and  she  no  longer  wore 
the  silken  support  for  her  arm.  She  was  dressed  in 
black — the  effect  of  her  glistening  hair  and  blond 
skin  was  dazzling.  His  eyes  wandered  from  the  white 
wrist,  dainty  and  rounded,  to  the  full  curved  neck — 
to  the  delicate  throat  and  proud  little  head.  Her 
body,  supple  as  perfect  Greek  sculpture ;  her  grace 
and  gentle  dignity  ;  her  innocence,  sweet  as  the  light 
in  her  blue  eyes,  set  him  dreaming  again  as  he  walked 
at  her  side,  preoccupied,  almost  saddened,  a  little 
afraid  that  such  happiness  as  was  his  should  provoke 
the  gods  to  end  it. 

He  need  not  have  taken  thought  for  the  gods,  for 
the  gods  take  thought  for  themselves  ;  and  they  were 
already  busy  at  Saarbriick.  Their  mills  are  not  al 
ways  slow  in  grinding ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
they  always  sure.  They  may  have  been  ages  ago,  but 
now  the  gods  are  so  out  of  date  that  saints  and  sin 
ners  have  a  chance  about  equally. 

They  traversed  the  lawn,  skirted  the  tall  wall  of 
t> 


70  LORRAINE ! 

solid  masonry  that  separated  the  chase  from  the  park, 
and,  passing  a  gate  at  the  hedge,  came  to  a  little  stone 
bridge,  beneath  which  the  Lisse  ran  dimpling.  They 
watched  the  horse  pursuing  his  own  way  tranquilly 
towards  the  stables,  and,  when  they  saw  a  groom  come 
out  and  lead  him  in,  they  turned  to  each  other,  ready 
to  begin  another  day  of  perfect  contentment. 

First  of  all  he  asked  about  her  shoulder,  and  she 
told  him  truthfully  that  it  was  well.  Then  she  in 
quired  about  the  old  vicomte  and  Madame  de  Morteyn, 
and  intrusted  pretty  little  messages  to  him  for  them, 
which  he,  unlike  most  young  men,  usually  remem 
bered  to  deliver. 

"  My  father/'  she  said,  "  has  not  been  to  breakfast 
or  dinner  since  the  day  before  yesterday.  I  should 
have  been  alarmed,  but  I  listened  at  the  door  and 
heard  him  moving  about  with  his  machinery.  I  sent 
him  some  very  nice  things  to  eat ;  I  don't  know  if  he 
liked  them,  for  he  sent  no  message  back.  Do  you 
suppose  he  is  hungry  ?" 

"No,"  said  Jack;  "if  he  were  he  would  say  so." 
He  was  careful  not  to  speak  bitterly,  and  she  noticed 
nothing. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  "that  he  is  about  to  make 
another  ascension.  He  often  stays  a  long  time  in  his 
room,  alone,  before  he  is  ready.  Will  it  not  be  de 
lightful  ?  I  shall  perhaps  be  permitted  to  go  up  with 
him.  Don't  you  wish  you  might  go  with  us  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jack,  with  a  little  more  earnestness 
than  he  intended. 

"Oh  1  you  do  ?  If  you  are  very  good,  perhaps  — 
perhaps — but  I  dare  not  promise.  If  it  were  my  bal 
loon  I  would  take  you." 


UNDER  THE   YOKE  71 

"  Would  yon— really  ?" 

Si  Of  course — yon  know  it.  But  it  isn't  my  balloon, 
you  know."  After  a  moment  she  went  on  ;  "1  have 
been  thinking  all  day  how  noble  and  good  it  is  of  my 
father  to  consecrate  his  life  to  a  purpose  that  shall 
be  of  use  to  France.  He  has  not  said  so,  but  I  know 
that,  if  the  next  ascension  proves  that  his  discovery 
is  beyond  the  chance  of  failure,  he  will  notify  the 
government  and  place  his  invention  at  their  disposal. 
Monsieur  Marche,  when  I  think  of  his  unselfish  no 
bleness,  the  tears  come — I  cannot  help  it." 

"  You,  too,  are  noble,"  said  Jack,  resentfully. 

"  I  ?  Oh,  if  you  knew  !  I — I  am  actually  wicked  ! 
Would  you  believe  it,  I  sometimes  think  and  think 
and  wish  that  my  father  could  spend  more  time  with 
me — with  me  ! — a  most  silly  and  thoughtless  girl  who 
would  sacrifice  the  welfare  of  France  to  her  own  ca 
price.  Think  of  it !  I  pray — very  often — that  I  may 
2earn  to  be  unselfish  ;  but  I  must  be  very  bad,  for  I 
often  cry  myself  to  sleep.  Is  it  not  wicked  ?" 

"Very,"  said  Jack,  but  his  smile  faded  and  there 
was  a  catch  in  his  voice. 

' '  You  see,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  despair, 
"  even  you  feel  it,  too  !" 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  know  what  I  do  think— of 
you  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  say  "Yes."  She 
checked  herself,  lips  apart,  and  her  eyes  became 
troubled. 

There  was  something  about  Jack  Marche  that  she 
had  not  been  able  to  understand.  It  occupied  her — 
it  took  up  a  good  share  of  her  attention,  but  she  did 
not  know  where  to  begin  to  philosophize,  nor  ye,^ 


72  LORRAINE ! 

where  to  end.  He  was  different  from  other  men — 
that  she  understood.  But  where  was  that  difference  ? 
— in  his  clear,  brown  eyes,  sunny  as  brown  streams  in 
October  ? — in  his  serious  young  face  ? — in  his  mouth, 
clean  cut  and  slightly  smiling  under  his  short,  crisp 
mustache,  burned  blond  by  the  sun  ?  Where  was  the 
difference? — in  his  voice  ? — in  his  gestures? — in  the 
turn  of  his  head  ? 

Lorraine  did  not  know,  but  as  often  as  she  gave 
the  riddle  up  she  recommenced  it,  idly  sometimes, 
sometimes  piqued  that  the  solution  seemed  no  nearer. 
Once,  the  evening  she  had  met  him  after  their  first 
encounter  in  the  forest  carref our — that  evening  on  the 
terrace  when  she  stood  looking  out  into  the  dazzling 
Lorraine  moonlight — she  felt  that  the  solution  of  the 
riddle  had  been  very  near.  But  now,  two  weeks  later, 
it  seemed  further  off  than  ever.  And  yet  this  prob 
lem,  that  occupied  her  so,  must  surely  be  worth  the 
solving,  What  was  it,  then,  in  Jack  Marche  that  made 
him  what  he  was  ? — gentle,  sweet-ternpered,  a  delight 
ful  companion — yes,  a  companion  that  she  would  not 
now  know  how  to  do  without. 

And  yet,  at  times,  there  came  into  his  eyes  and 
into  his  voice  something  that  troubled  her — she  could 
not  tell  why — something  that  mystified  and  checked 
her,  and  set  her  thinking  again  on  the  ojd,  old  prob 
lem  that  had  seemed  so  near  solution  that  evening  on 
the  moonlit  terrace. 

That  was  why  she  started  to  say  "  Yes  "  to  his  ques 
tion,  and  did  not,  but  stood  with  lips  half  parted  and 
blue  eyes  troubled. 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then, 
with  a  half-impatient  gesture,  turned  to  the  river. 


UNDER  THE    YOKE  73 

( '  Shall  we  sit  down  on  the  moss  ?"  she  asked, 
vaguely  conscious  that  his  sympathies  had,  for  a  mo 
ment,  lost  touch  with  hers. 

He  followed  her  down  the  trodden  foot-path  to  the 
bank  of  the  stream,  and,  when  she  had  seated  herself 
at  the  foot  of  a  linden-tree,  he  threw  himself  at  her 
feet. 

They  were  silent.  He  picked  up  a  faded  bnnch  of 
blue  corn-flowers  which  they  had  left  there,  forgotten, 
the  day  before.  One  by  one  he  broke  the  blossoms 
from  the  stalks  and  tossed  them  into  the  water. 

She,  watching  them  floating  away  under  the  bridge, 
thought  of  the  blue  bits  of  paper — the  telegram — that 
she  had  torn  up  and  tossed  upon  the  water  two  weeks 
before.  He  was  thinking  of  the  same  thing,  for,  when 
she  said,  abruptly :  "I  should  not  have  done  that !" 
he  knew  what  she  meant,  and  replied  :  "  Such  things 
are  always  your  right — if  yon  care  to  use  it." 

She  laughed.  "  Then  you  believe  still  in  the  feudal 
system  ?  I  do  not ;  I  am  a  good  republican." 

"It  is  easy,"  he  said,  also  laughing,  " for  a  young 
lady  with  generations  of  counts  and  vicomtes  behind 
her  to  be  a  republican.  It  is  easier  still  for  a  man 
with  generations  of  republicans  behind  him  to  turn 
royalist.  It  is  the  way  of  the  world,  mademoiselle." 

"Then  you  shall  say:  *  Long  live  the  king!'"  she 
said  ;  <(  say  it  this  instant !" 

"  Long  live — your  king  !" 

"My  king?" 

"  I'm  his  subject  if  you  are  ;  I'll  shout  for  no  other 
king." 

"  Now,  whatever  is  he  talking  about  ?"  thought  Lor 
raine,  and  the  suspicion  of  a  cloud  gathered  in  her 


74  LORIUJNE  ! 

clear  eyes  again,  but  was  dissipated  at  once  when  he 
said :  "  I  have  answered  the  Herald's  telegram." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  I  accepted — " 

"  What  1" 

There  was  resentment  in  her  voice.  She  felt  that 
he  had  done  something  which  was  tacitly  understood 
to  be  against  her  wishes.  True,  what  difference  did 
it  make  to  her  ?  None ;  she  would  lose  a  delightful 
companion.  Suddenly,  something  of  the  significance 
of  such  a  loss  came  to  her.  It  was  not  a  revelation, 
scarcely  an  illumination,  but  she  understood  that  if 
he  went  she  should  be  lonely — yes,  even  unhappy. 
Then,  too,  unconsciously,  she  had  assumed  a  men 
tal  attitude  of  interest  in  his  movements — of  partial 
proprietorship  in  his  thoughts.  She  felt  vaguely 
that  she  had  been  overlooked  in  the  decision  he  had 
made ;  that  even  if  she  had  not  been  consulted,  at 
least  he  might  have  told  her  what  he  intended  to  do. 
Lorraine  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  herself.  But 
she  was  easily  understood.  For  two  weeks  her  atti 
tude  had  been  that  of  every  innocent,  lovable  girl 
when  in  the  presence  of  the  man  whom  she  frankly 
cares  for ;  and  that  attitude  was  one  of  mental  pro 
prietorship.  Now,  suddenly  finding  that  his  sympa 
thies  and  ideas  moved  independently  of  her  sympa 
thies — that  her  mental  influence,  which  existed  until 
now  unconsciously,  was  in  reality  no  influence  at  all, 
she  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  perhaps  counted  for 
nothing  with  him.  Therefore  resentment  appeared 
in  the  faintest  of  straight  lines  between  her  eyes. 

(t  Do  you  care  ?"  he  asked,  carelessly. 

"I?    Why,  no." 


UNDER   THE   YOKE  75 

If  she  had  smiled  at  him  and  said  ' ( Yes,"  he  would 
have  despaired  ;  but  she  frowned  a  trifle  and  said 
"No/'  and  Jack's  heart  began  to  beat. 

"I  cabled  them  two  words:  ' Accept  —  provision 
ally/"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  what  did  you  mean  ?" 

"  Provisionally  meant — with  your  consent.'* 

"  My — my  consent  ?" 

ec  Yes — if  it  is  your  pleasure." 

Pleasure  !  Her  sweet  eyes  answered  what  her  lips 
withheld.  Her  little  heart  beat  high.  So  then  she 
did  influence  this  cool  young  man,  with  his  brown 
eyes  faintly  smiling,  and  his  indolent  limbs  crossed 
on  the  moss  at  her  feet.  At  the  same  moment  her 
instinct  told  her  to  tighten  her  hold.  This  was  so 
perfectly  feminine,  so  instinctively  human,  that  she 
had  done  it  before  she  herself  was  aware  of  it.  "  I 
shall  think  it  over,"  she  said,  looking  at  him,  gravely ; 
"  I  may  permit  you  to  accept." 

So  was  accomplished  the  admitted  subjugation  of 
Jack  Marche — a  stroke  of  diplomacy  on  his  part ;  and 
he  passed  under  the  yoke  in  such  a  manner  that  even 
the  blindest  of  maids  could  see  that  he  was  not  vault 
ing  over  it  instead. 

Having  openly  and  admittedly  established  her  sov 
ereignty,  she  was  happy — so  happy  that  she  began  to 
feel  that  perhaps  the  victory  was  not  unshared  by 
him. 

"  I  shall  think  it  over  very  seriously,"  she  repeated, 
watching  his  laughing  eyes ;  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
shall  permit  you  to  go." 

"  I  only  wish  to  go  as  a  special,  not  a  regular  cor 
respondent.  I  wish  to  be  at  liberty  to  roam  about  and 


76  LORRAINE  ! 

sketch  or  write  what  I  please.  I  think  my  material 
will  always  be  found  inyonr  vicinity." 

Her  heart  fluttered  a  little ;  this  surprised  her  so 
much  that  her  cheeks  grew  suddenly  warm  and  pink. 
A  little  confused,  she  said  what  she  had  not  dreamed 
of  saying  :  "  You  won't  go  very  far  away,  will  you  ?'' 
And  before  she  could  modify  her  speech  he  had  an 
swered,  impetuously :  "  Never,  until  you  send  me 
away  !" 

A  mottled  thrush  on  the  top  of  the  linden-tree  sur 
veyed  the  scene  curiously.  She  had  never  beheld 
such  a  pitiably  embarrassed  young  couple  in  all  her 
life.  It  was  so  different  in  Thrushdom. 

Lorraine's  first  impulse  was  to  go  away  and  close 
several  doors  and  sit  down,  very  still,  and  think.  Her 
next  impulse  was  to  stay  and  see  what  Jack  would  do. 
He  seemed  to  be  embarrassed,  too — he  fidgeted  and 
tossed  twigs  and  pebbles  into  the  river.  She  felt  that 
she,  who  already  admittedly  was  arbiter  of  his  goings 
and  comings,  should  do  something  to  relieve  this  un 
easy  and  strained  situation.  So  she  folded  her  hands 
on  her  black  dress  and  said:  " There  is  something  I 
have  been  wishing  to  tell  you  for  two  weeks,  but  I 
did  not  because  I  was  not  sure  that  I  was  right,  and 
I  did  not  wish  to  trouble  you  unnecessarily.  Now, 
perhaps,  you  would  be  willing  to  share  the  trouble 
with  me.  Would  you  ?" 

Before  the  eager  answer  came  to  his  lips  she  con 
tinued,  hastily  :  "  The  man  who  made  maps — the  man 
whom  you  struck  in  the  carrefour — is  the  same  man 
who  ran  away  with  the  box  ;  I  know  it !" 

"That  spy? — that  tall,  square -shouldered  fellow 
with  the  pink  skin  and  little,  pale,  pinkish  eyes  ?" 


UNDER   THE    YOKE  77 

"Yes.     I  know  his  name,  too." 

Jack  sat  up  on  the  moss  and  listened  anxiously. 

"His  name  is  Von  Steyr — Siurd  von  Steyr.  It 
was  written  in  pencil  on  the  back  of  one  map.  The 
morning  after  the  assault  on  the  house,  when  they 
thought  I  was  ill  in  bed,  I  got  up  and  dressed  and 
went  down  to  examine  the  road  where  you  caught  the 
man  and  saved  my  father's  little  steel  box.  There  I 
found  a  strip  of  cloth  torn  from  your  evening  coat, 
and — oh,  Monsieur  Marche  ! — I  found  the  great,  flat 
stone  with  which  he  tried  to  crush  you,  just  as  my 
father  fired  from  the  wall  I" 

The  sudden  memory,  the  thought  of  what  might 
have  happened,  came  to  her  in  a  flash  for  the  first 
time.  She  looked  at  him — her  hands  were  in  his  be 
fore  she  could  understand  why. 

"  Go  on,"  he  whispered. 

Her  eyes  met  his  half  fearfully — she  withdrew  her 
fingers  with  a  nervous  movement  and  sat  silent. 

"Tell  me,"  he  urged,  and  took  one  of  her  hands 
again.  She  did  not  withdraw  it — she  seemed  con 
fused  ;  and  presently  he  dropped  her  hand  and  sat 
waiting  for  her  to  speak,  his  heart  beating  furiously. 

"  There  is  not  much  more  to  tell,"  she  said  at  last, 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  not  quite  under  control.  "  I 
followed  the  broken  bushes  and  his  footmarks  along 
the  river  until  I  came  to  a  stone  where  I  think  he  sat 
down.  He  was  bleeding,  too — my  father  shot  him — 
and  he  tore  bits  of  paper  and  cloth  to  cover  the 
wound — he  even  tore  up  another  map.  I  found  part 
of  it,  with  his  name  on  the  back  again — not  all  of  it, 
though,  but  enough.  Here  it  is." 

She  handed  him  a  bit  of  paper.     On  one  side  were 


78  LORRAINE  ! 

the  fragments  of  a  map  in  water-colour  ;  on  the  other,, 
written  in  German  script,  he  read  "Siurd  von  Steyr." 

"It's  enough,"  said  Jack;  "what  a  plucky  girl 
you  are,  anyway  I" 

"1?    You  don't  think  so  !— do  you  ?" 

"  You  are  the  bravest,  sweetest — " 

"  Dear  me  !  You  must  not  say  that !  You  are 
sadly  uneducated,  and  I  see  I  must  take  you  under 
my  control  at  once.  Man  is  born  to  obey  !  I  have  de 
cided  about  your  answer  to  the  Herald's  telegram/' 

"  May  I  know  the  result  ?"  he  asked,  laughingly. 

<e  To-morrow.  There  is  a  brook-lily  on  the  border 
of  the  sedge-grass.  You  may  bring  it  to  me." 

So  began  the  education  of  Jack  Marche — under  the 
yoke.  And  Lorraine's  education  began,  too — tout  she 
was  sublimely  unconscious  of  that  fact. 

This  also  is  a  law  in  the  world. 


IX 

SAARBRUCK 

ON  the  first  day  of  August,  late  in  the  afternoon,  a 
peasant  driving  an  exhausted  horse  pulled  up  at  the 
Chateau  Morteyn,  where  Jack  Marche  stood  on  the 
terrace,  smoking  and  cutting  at  leaves  with  his  riding- 
crop. 

"What's  the  matter,  Passerat?"  asked  Jack,  good- 
humouredly;  "  are  the  Prussians  in  the  valley  ?" 

"You  are  right.  Monsieur  Marche — the  Prussians 
have  crossed  the  Saar  I"  blurted  out  the  man.  His 
face  was  agitated,  and  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his 
cheeks  with  the  sleeve  of  his  blouse. 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Jack,  sharply. 

"  Monsieur — I  saw  them  !  They  chased  me — the 
Uhlans  with  their  spears  and  devilish  yellow  horses." 

"  Where  ?"  demanded  Jack,  with  an  incredulous 
shrug. 

"  I  had  been  to  Forbach,  where  my  cousin  Passerat 
is  a  miner  in  the  coal-mines.  This  morning  I  left  to 
drive  to  Saint -Lys,  having  in  my  wagon  these  sacks 
of  coal  that  my  cousin  Passerat  procured  for  me,  a 
prix  reduit.  It  would  take  all  day  ;  I  did  not  care — 
I  had  bread  and  red  wine — you  understand,  my  cousin 
Passerat  and  1,  we  had  been  gay  in  Saint-Avoid,  too — 
dame  !  we  see  each  other  seldom,  I  may  have  had 


80  LORRAINE  ! 

more  eau-de-vie  than  another — it  is  permitted  on  fete- 
days  !  Monsieur,,  I  was  tired — I  possibly  slept — the 
road  was  hot.  Then  something  awakes  me  ;  I  rub 
my  eyes  —  behold  me  awake  !  —  staring  dumfounded 
at  what  ?  Parbleu  ! — at  two  ugly  Uhlans  sitting  on 
their  yellow  horses  on  a  hill !  fNo  !  no  I'  I  cry  to 
myself;  'it  is  impossible  !'  It  is  a  bad  dream  !  Dieu 
de  Dieu  !  It  is  no  dream  !  My  Uhlans  come  gallop 
ing  down  the  hill ;  I  hear  them  bawling  '  Halt  !  Wer 
da  I'  It  is  terrible  !  '  Passerat !'  I  shriek,  *  it  is  the 
hour  to  vanish  I'  '* 

The  man  paused,  overcome  by  emotions  and  eau- 
de-vie. 

"Well/'  said  Jack,  "go  on  I" 

"  And  I  am  here,  monsieur,"  ended  the  peasant, 
hazily. 

"  Passerat,  you  said  you  had  taken  too  much  eau-de- 
vie  ?"  suggested  Jack,  with  a  smile  of  encouragement. 

"  Much  ?.   Monsieur,  you  do  not  believe  me  ?" 

"I  believe  you  had  a  dream." 

"Bon,"  said  the  peasant,  "I  want  no  more  such 
dreams." 

"  Are  you  going  to  inform  the  mayor  of  Saint-Lys  ?" 
asked  Jack. 

"  Of  course,"  muttered  Passerat,  gathering  up  his 
reins;  "heu!  da-da!  heu !  cocotte !  en  route !"  and 
he  rattled  sulkily  away,  perhaps  a  little  uncertain 
himself  as  to  the  concreteness  of  his  recent  vision. 

Jack  looked  after  him. 

"  There  might  be  something  in  it,"  he  mused,  "  but, 
dear  me  !  his  nose  is  unpleasantly — sun-burned." 

That  same  morning,  Lorraine  had  announced  her 
decision.  It  was  that  Jack  might  accept  the  position 


SAARBRUCK  81 

of  special,  or  rather  occasional,  war  correspondent  for 
the  New  York  Herald  if  he  would  promise  not  to  re 
main  absent  for  more  than  a  day  at  a  time.  This, 
Jack  thought,  practically  nullified  the  consent,  for 
what  in  the  world  could  a  man  see  of  the  campaign 
under  such  circumstances  ?  Still,  he  did  not  object ; 
he  was  too  happy. 

"However,"  he  thought,  "I  might  ride  over  to 
Saarbruck.  Suppose  I  should  be  on  hand  at  the  first 
battle  of  the  war  ?" 

As  a  mere  lad  he  had  already  seen  service  with  the 
Austrians  at  Sadowa  ;  he  had  risked  his  modest  head 
more  than  once  in  the  murderous  province  of  Oran, 
where  General  Chanzy  scoured  the  hot  plains  like  a 
scourge  of  Allah. 

He  had  lived,  too,  at  headquarters,  and  shared  the 
officers'  mess  where  "  cherba,"  "tadjines,"  "kous- 
kous,"  and  "mechoin"  formed  the  menu,  and  a 
"  Kreima  Kebira"  served  as  his  roof.  He  had  done 
his  duty  as  correspondent,  merely  because  it  was  his 
duty ;  he  would  have  preferred  an  easier  assignment, 
for  he  took  no  pleasure  in  cruelty  and  death  and 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  agony  of  proud,  dark  faces, 
where  mud-stained  turbans  hung  in  ribbons  and  tin 
selled  saddles  reeked  with  Arab  horses*  blood. 

War  correspondent  ?  It  had  happened  to  be  his  call 
ing  ;  but  the  accident  of  his  profession  had  been  none 
of  his  own  seeking.  Now  that  he  needed  nothing  in  the 
way  of  recompense,,  he  hesitated  to  take  it  up  again. 
Instinctive  loyalty  to  his  old  newspaper  was  all  that 
had  induced  him  to  entertain  the  idea.  Loyalty  and 
deference  to  Lorraine  compelled  him  to  modify  his 
acceptance.  Therefore  it  was  not  altogether  idle 


82  LORRAINE  ! 

curiosity,  but  partly  a  sense  of  obligation,  that  made 
him  think  of  riding  to  Saarbruck  to  see  what  he  could 
see  for  his  journal  within  the  twenty-four-hour  limit 
that  Lorraine  had  set. 

It  was  too  late  to  ride  over  that  evening  and  return 
in  time  to  keep  his  word  to  Lorraine,  so  he  decided 
to  start  at  daybreak,  realizing  at  the  same  time,  with 
a  pang,  that  it  meant  not  seeing  Lorraine  all  day. 

He  went  up  to  his  chamber  and  sat  down  to  think. 
He  would  write  a  note  to  Lorraine ;  he  had  never 
done  such  a  thing,  and  he  hoped  she  might  not  find 
fault  with  him. 

He  tossed  his  riding-crop  on  to  the  desk,  picked  up  a 
pen,  and  wrote  carefully,  ending  the  single  page  with, 
"  It  is  reported  that  Uhlans  have  been  encountered  in 
the  direction  of  Saarbriick,  and,  although  I  do  not 
believe  it,  I  shall  go  there  to-morrow  and  see  for  my 
self.  I  will  be  back  within  the  twelve  hours.  May 
I  ride  over  to  tell  you  about  these  mythical  Uhlans 
when  I  return  ?" 

He  called  a  groom  and  bade  him  drive  to  the  Cha 
teau  de  Nesville  with  the  note.  Then  he  went  down 
to  sit  with  the  old  vicomte  and  Madame  de  Morteyn 
until  it  came  dinner-time,  and  the  oil-lamps  in  the 
gilded  salon  were  lighted,  and  the  candles  blazed  up 
on  either  side  of  the  gilt  French  clock. 

After  dinner  he  played  chess  with  his  uncle  until 
the  old  man  fell  asleep  in  his  chair.  There  was  an 
interval  of  silence. 

"Jack,"  said  his  aunt,  "you  are  a  dear,  good  boy. 
Tell  me,  do  you  love  our  little  Lorraine  ?" 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  struck  him  dumb. 
His  aunt  smiled;  her  faded,  eyes  were  very  tender 


8AARBRUCK  85 

and  kindly,  and  she  laid  both  frail  hands  on  his  shoul 
ders. 

"It  is  my  wish,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  ;  (f  remem 
ber  that,  Jack.  Now  go  and  walk  on  the  terrace,  for 
she  will  surely  answer  yonr  note." 

"  How — how  did  you  know  I  wrote  her  ?"  he  stam 
mered. 

"  When  a  young  man  sends  his  aunt's  servants  on 
such  very  unorthodox  errands,  what  can  he  expect, 
f specially  when  those  servants  are  faithful  ?" 

"  That  groom  told  you,  Aunt  Helen  ?" 

"Yes.  -Jack,  these  French  servants  don't  under 
stand  such  things.  Be  more  careful,  for  Lorraine's 
sake." 

"  But— I  will— but  did  the  note  reach  her  ?" 

His  aunt  smiled.  "Yes.  I  took  the  responsibility 
upon  myself,  and  there  will  be  no  gossip." 

Jack  leaned  over  and  kissed  the  amused  mouth, 
and  the  old  lady  gave  him  a  little  hug  and  told  him 
to  go  and  walk  on  the  terrace. 

The  groom  was  already  there,  holding  a  note  in  one 
hand,  gilt-banded  cap  in  the  other. 

His  first  letter  from  Lorraine  !  He  opened  it  fever 
ishly.  In  the  middle  of  a  thin  sheet  of  note-paper 
was  written  the  motto  of  the  De  Nesvilles,  "  Tiens  ta 

y." 

Beneath,  in  a  girlish  hand,  a  single  line : 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you  at  dusk.  LORRAINE." 

All  night  long,  as  he  lay  half  asleep  on  his  pillow, 
the  words  repeated  themselves  in  his  drowsy  brain : 
"Tiens  taFoy!"  "Tiens  taFoy!"  (Keep  thy  Faith!). 
Aye,  he  would  keep  it  unto  death — he  knew  it  even 


84  LOKRAINE  ! 

in  his  slumber.  But  he  did  not  know  how  near  to 
death  that  faith  might  lead  him. 

The  wood -sparrows  were  chirping  outside  his  win 
dow  when  he  awoke.  It  was  scarcely  dawn,  but  he 
heard  the  maid  knocking  at  his  door,  and  the  rattle 
of  silver  and  china  announced  the  morning  coffee. 

He  stepped  from  his  bed  into  the  tub  of  cold  water, 
yawning  and  shivering,  but  the  pallor  of  his  skin  soon 
gave  place  to  a  healthy  glow,  and  his  clean-cut  body 
and  strong  young  limbs  hardened  and  grew  pink  and 
firm  again  under  the  coarse  towel. 

Breakfast  he  ate  hastily  by  candle-light,  and  pres 
ently  he  dressed,  buckled  his  spurs  over  the  insteps, 
caught  up  gloves,  cap,  and  riding-crop,  and,  slinging 
a  field-glass  over  his  Norfolk  jacket,  lighted  a  pipe 
and  went  noiselessly  down-stairs. 

There  was  a  chill  in  the  gray  dawn  as  he  mounted 
and  rode  out  through  the  shadowy  portals  of  the 
wrought-iron  grille  ;  a  vapour,  floating  like  loose  cob 
webs,  undulated  above  the  placid  river  ;  the  tree-tops 
were  festooned  with  mist.  Save  for  the  distant  chat 
ter  of  wood-sparrows,  stirring  under  the  eaves  of  the 
Chateau,  the  stillness  was  profound. 

As  he  left  the  park  and  cantered  into  the  broad  red 
highway,  he  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  towards 
the  Chateau  de  Nesville.  At  first  he  could  not  see 
it,  but  as  he  rode  over  the  bridge  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  pointed  roof  and  single  turret,  a  dim  silhouette 
through  the  mist.  Then  it  vanished  in  the  films  of 
fog. 

The  road  to  Saarbrtick  was  a  military  road,  and 
easy  travelling.  The  character  of  the  country  had 
changed  as  suddenly  as  a  drop-scene  falls  in  a  theatre; 


SAARBRUCK  85 

for  now  all  around  stretched  fields  cut  into  squares 
by  hedges — fields  deep-laden  with  heavy-fruited  straw 
berries,  white  and  crimson.  Currants,  too,  glowed 
like  strung  rubies  frosted  with  the  dew ;  plum-trees 
spread  little  pale  shadows  across  the  ruddy  earth,  and 
beyond  them  the  disk  of  the  sun  appeared,  pushing 
upward  behind  a  half -ploughed  hill.  Everywhere  slen 
der  fruit-trees  spread  their  grafted  branches ;  every 
where  in  the  crumbling  furrows  of  the  soil,  warm  as 
ochre,  the  bunched  strawberries  hung  like  drops  of 
red  wine  under  the  sun-bronzed  leaves. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  high  when  he  walked  his 
horse  up  the  last  hill  that  hides  the  valley  of  the 
Saar.  Already,  through  the  constant  rushing  mel 
ody  of  bird  music,  his  ears  had  distinguished  another 
sound — a  low,  incessant  hum,  monotonous,  intermi 
nable  as  the  noise  of  a  stream  in  a  gorge.  It  was  not 
the  river  Saar  moving  over  its  bed  of  sand  and  yel 
low  pebbles  ;  it  was  not  the  breeze  in  the  furze.  He 
knew  what  it  was  ;  he  had  heard  it  before,  in  Oran — 
in  the  stillness  of  dawn,  where,  below,  among  the 
shadowy  plains,  an  army  was  awaking  under  dim 
tents. 

And  now  his  horse's  head  rose  up  black  against  the 
sky ;  now  the  valley  broke  into  view  below,  gray,  in 
distinct  in  the  shadows,  crossed  by  ghostly  lines  of 
poplars  that  dwindled  away  to  the  horizon. 

At  the  same  instant  something  moved  in  the  fields 
to  the  left,  and  a  shrill  voice  called :  "  Qui-vive  ?" 
Before  he  could  draw  bridle  blue -jacketed  cavalry 
men  were  riding  at  either  stirrup,  carbine  on  thigh, 
peering  curiously  into  his  face,  pushing  their  active 
light-bay  horses  close  to  his  big  black  horse. 


86  LORRAINE  ! 

Jack  laughed  good-humouredly  and  fumbled  in  the 
breast  of  his  Norfolk  jacket  for  his  papers. 

"Fm  only  a  special,"  he  said  ;  "I  think  you'll  find 
the  papers  in  order — if  not,  you've  only  to  gallop  back 
to  the  Chateau  Morteyn  to  verify  them." 

An  officer  with  a  bewildering  series  of  silver  ara 
besques  on  either  sleeve  guided  a  .nervous  horse 
through  the  throng  of  troopers,  returned  Jack's 
pleasant  salute,  reached  out  a  gloved  hand  for  his 
papers,  and  read  them,  sitting  silently  in  his  saddle. 
When  he  finished,  he  removed  the  cigarette  from  his 
lips,  looked  eagerly  at  Jack,  and  said  : 

"  You  are  from  Morteyn  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  A  guest  ?" 

"  The  Vicomte  de  Morteyn  is  my  uncle/* 

The  officer  burst  into  a  boyish  laugh. 

"Jack  Marche!" 

"Eh  !"  cried  Jack,  startled. 

Then  he  looked  more  closely  at  the  young  officer 
before  him,  who  was  laughing  in  his  face. 

"Well,  upon  my  word!  No  —  it  can't  be  little 
Georges  Carriere  ?" 

"Yes,  it  can!"  cried  the  other,  briskly;  "none  of 
your  damned  airs,  Jack  !  Embrace  me,  my  son  !" 

"  My  son,  I  won't !"  said  Jack,  leaning  forward  joy 
ously — "the  idea!  Little  Georges  calls  me  his  son  ! 
And  he's  learning  the  paternal  tricks  of  the  old  gen 
erals,  and  doubtless  he  calls  his  troopers  fmes  en 
fant  s,'  and — " 

"  Oh,  shut  up  !"  said  Georges,  giving  him  an  im 
petuous  hug;  "what  are  you  up  to  now — more  war 
correspondence  ?  For  the  same  old  Herald  ?  Nom 


SAARBRUCK  87 

d'nne  pipe  !  It's  cooler  here  than  in  Oran.  It  'II  be 
hotter,  too — in  another  way,"  with  a  gay  gesture  tow 
ards  the  valley  below.  "Jack  Marche,  tell  me  all 
about  everything  I" 

On  either  side  the  blue-jacketed  troopers  fell  back, 
grinning  with  sympathy  as  Georges  guided  his  horse 
into  a  field  on  the  right,  motioning  Jack  to  follow. 

"We  can  talk  here  a  bit,"  he  said  ;  "you've  lots  of 
time  to  ride  on.  Now,  fire  ahead  I" 

Jack  told  him  of  the  three  years  spent  in  idleness, 
of  the  vapid  life  in  Paris,  the  long  summers  in  Brit 
tany,  his  desire  to  learn  to  paint,  and  his  despair  when 
he  found  he  couldn't. 

"  I  can  sketch  like  the  mischief,  though/'  he  said. 
"Now  tell  me  about  Oran,  and  our  dear  General 
Chanzy,  and  that  devil's  own  '  Legion/  and  the  Hell's 
Selected  2d  Zouaves  !  Do  you  remember  that  day  at 
Damas  when  Chanzy  visited  the  Emir  Abd-el-Kader 
at  Doummar,  and  the  fifteen  Spahis  of  the  escort,  and 
that  little  imp  of  the  Legion  who  was  caught  roam 
ing  around  the  harem,  and — " 

Georges  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  I  can't  answer  all  that  in  a  second  !  Wait !  Do 
you  want  to  know  about  Chanzy  ?  Well,  he's  still  in 
Bel-Abbes,  and  he's  been  named  commander  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour,  and  he's  no  end  of  a  swell.  He'll 
be  coming  back  now  that  we've  got  to  chase  these 
sausage-eaters  across  the  Rhine.  Look  at  me  !  You 
used  to  say  that  I'd  stopped  growing  and  could  never 
aspire  to  a  mustache  !  Now  look  !  Eh  ?  Five  feet 
eleven  and  —  what  do  you  think  of  my  mustache  ? 
Oh,  that  African  sun  sets  things  growing  !  I'm  lieu 
tenant,  too," 


88  LORRAINE  I 


"Does  the  African  sun  also  influence  yonr  growth 
in  the  line  of  promotion  ?"  asked  Jack,  grinning. 

"  Same  old  farceur,  too  I"  mused  Georges.  "  Now, 
what  the  mischief  are  you  doing  here  ?  Oh,  you  are 
staying  at  Morteyn  ?" 


"I  —  er  —  I  used  to  visit  another  house  —  er  —  near  by. 
You  know  the  Marquis  de  Nesville  ?"  asked  Georges, 
innocently. 

"I?    Oh  yes." 

"You  have  —  perhaps  you  have  met  Mademoiselle 
de  Nesville  ?" 

"  Yes/'  said  Jack,  shortly. 

"Oh/' 

There  was  a  silence.  Jack  shuffled  his  booted  toes 
in  his  stirrups  ;  Georges  looked  out  across  the  valley. 

In  the  valley  the  vapours  were  rising;  behind  the 
curtain  of  shredded  mist  the  landscape  lay  hilly,  near 
ly  treeless,  cut  by  winding  roads  and  rank  on  rank  of 
spare  poplars.  Farther  away  clumps  of  woods  ap 
peared,  and  little  hillocks,  and  now,  as  the  air  cleared, 
the  spire  of  a  church  glimmered.  Suddenly  a  thin 
line  of  silver  cut  the  landscape  beyond  the  retreating 
fog.  The  Saar  ! 

"Where  are  the  Prussians'?"  asked  Jack,  breaking 
the  silence. 

Georges  laid  his  gloved  hand  on  his  companion's 
arm. 

"  Do  you  see  that  spire  ?  That  is  Saarbriick. 
They  are  there." 

"  This  side  of  the  Rhine,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Georges,  reddening  a  little  ;  "  wait,  my 
friend." 


SAARBRUCK  89 

"They  must  have  crossed  the  Saar  on  the  bridges 
from  Saint-Johann,  then.  I  heard  that  Uhlans  had 
heen  signalled  near  the  Saar,  but  I  didn't  believe  it. 
Uhlans  in  France  ?  Georges,  when  are  you  fellows 
going  to  chase  them  back?" 

"  This  morning — you're  just  in  time,  as  usual,"  said 
Georges,  airily.  "Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  an  idea 
of  our  positions  ?  Listen,  then  :  we're  massed  along 
the  frontier  from  Sierk  and  Metz  to  Hagenau  and 
Strasbourg.  The  Prussians  lie  at  right  angles  to  us, 
from  Mainz  to  Lauterburg  and  from  Trier  to  Saar- 
briick.  Except  near  Saarbruck  they  are  on  their 
side  of  the  boundary,  let  me  tell  you  !  Look  !  Now 
you  can  see  Forbach  through  the  trees.  We're  there 
and  we're  at  Saint- Avoid  and  Bitsch  and  Saargemiind, 
too.  As  for  me,  I'm  with  this  damned  rear-guard,  and 
I  count  tents  and  tin  pails,  and  I  raise  the  devil  with 
stragglers  and  generally  ennui  myself.  I'm  no  gen 
darme  !  There's  a  regiment  of  gendarmes  five  miles 
north,  and  I  don't  see  why  they  can't  do  depot  duty 
and  police  this  country." 

"  The  same  child — kicking,  kicking,  kicking  I"  ob 
served  Jack.  "  You  ought  to  thank  your  luck  that 
you  are  a  spectator  for  once.  Give  me  your  glass." 

He  raised  the  binoculars  and  levelled  them  at  the 
valley. 

' ( Hello !  I  didn't  see  those  troops  before.  Infantry, 
eh  ?  And  there  goes  a  regiment — no,  a  brigade — no, 
a  division,  at  least,  of  cavalry.  I  see  cuirassiers,  too. 
Good  heavens  !  Their  breastplates  take  the  sun  liko 
heliographs  !  There  are  troops  everywhere ;  there's 
an  artillery  train  on  that  road  beyond  Saint-Avoid. 
Here,  take  the  glasses." 


90  LORRAINE  ! 

"  Keep  them — I  know  where  they  are.  What  time 
is  it,  Jack  ?  My  repeater  is  running  wild — as  if  it 
were  chasing  Prussians." 

' '  It's  half -past  nine  ;  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  so 
late!  Ha!  there  goes  a  mass  of  infantry  along  the 
hill.  See  it?  They're  headed  for  Saarbriick !  Georges, 
what's  that  big  marquee  in  the  wheat-field  ?" 

"  The  Emperor  is  there/'  said  Georges,  proudly ; 
"those  troopers  are  the  Cuirassiers  of  the  Hundred- 
Guards.  See  their  white  mantles  ?  The  Prince  Im 
perial  is  there,  too.  Poor  little  man — he  looks  so 
tired  and  bewildered." 

Jack  kept  his  glasses  fixed  on  the  white  dot  that 
marked  the  imperial  headquarters,  but  the  air  was 
hazy  and  the  distance  too  great  to  see  anything  except 
specks  and  points  of  white  and  black,  slowly  shifting, 
gathering,  and  collecting  again  in  the  grain-field,  that 
looked  like  a  tiny  square  of  pale  gilt  on  the  hill-top. 

Suddenly  a  spot  of  white  vapour  appeared  over  the 
spire  of  Saarbruck,  then  another,  then  three  together, 
little  round  clouds  that  hung  motionless,  wavered, 
split,  and  disappeared  in  the  sunshine,  only  to  be  fol 
lowed  by  more  round  cloud  clots.  A  moment  later 
the  dull  mutter  of  cannon  disturbed  the  morning  air, 
distant  rumblings  and  faint  shocks  that  seemed  to 
come  from  an  infinite  distance. 

Jack  handed  back  the  binoculars  and  opened  his 
own  field-glasses  in  silence.  Neither  spoke,  but  they 
instinctively  leaned  forward,  side  by  side,  sweeping  the 
panorama  with  slow,  methodical  movements,  glasses 
firmly  levelled.  And  now,  in  the  valley  below,  the 
long  roads  grew  black  with  moving  columns  of  cavalry 
and  artillery;  the  fields  on  either  side  were  alive  with 


SAARBRUCK  91 

infantry,  dim  red  squares  and  oblongs,  creeping  across 
the  landscape  towards  that  line  of  silver,  the  Saar. 

"It's  a  flank  movement  on  Wissembourg,"  said 
Jack,  suddenly ;  "  or  are  they  swinging  around  to 
take  Saint-Johanii  from  the  north  ?" 

"  Watch  Saarbrtick/J  muttered  Georges  between 
his  teeth. 

The  slow  seconds  crept  into  minutes,  the  minutes 
into  hours,  as  they  waited  there,  fascinated.  Already 
the  sharper  rattle  of  musketry  broke  out  on  the  hills 
south  of  the  Saar,  and  the  projectiles  fell  fast  in  the 
little  river,  beyond  which  the  single  spire  of  Saar- 
briick  rose,  capped  with  the  smoke  of  exploding  shells. 

Jack  sat  sketching  in  a  canvas-covered  book,  raising 
his  brown  eyes  from  time  to  time,  or  writing  on  a 
pad  laid  flat  on  his  saddle-pommel. 

The  two  young  fellows  conversed  in  low  tones, 
laughing  quietly  or  smoking  in  absorbed  silence,  and 
even  their  subdued  voices  were  louder  than  the  roll 
of  the  distant  cannonade. 

Suddenly  the  wind  changed  and  their  ears  were 
filled  with  the  hollow  Doom  of  cannon.  And  now, 
nearer  than  they  could  have  believed,  the  crash  of 
volley  firing  mingled  with  the  whirring  crackle  of 
gatlings  and  the  spattering  rattle  of  Montigny  mi 
trailleuses  from  the  Guard  artillery. 

"  Fichtre  !"  said  Georges,  with  a  shrug,  ' '  not  only 
Dancing,  but  music  !  What  are  you  sketching,  Jack  ? 
Let  me  see.  Hm  !  Pretty  good — for  you.  You've  got 
Forbach  too  near,  though.  I  wonder  what  the  Em 
peror  is  doing.  It  seems  too  bad  to  drag  that  sick 
child  of  his  out  to  see  a  lot  of  men  fall  over  dead. 
Poor  little  Lulu  !" 


92  LOBRAINE  ! 

"  Kicking,  kicking  ever  I"  murmured  Jack  ;  "  the 
same  fierce  Kepublican,  eh  ?  Fve  no  sympathy  with 
you — Fm  too  American. " 

"  Cheap  cynicism,"  observed  Georges.  "  Hello  !-— 
here's  an  aide-de-camp  with  orders.  Wait  a  second, 
will  you  ?"  and  the  young  fellow  gathered  bridle  and 
galloped  out  into  the  high-road,  where  his  troopers 
stood  around  an  officer  wearing  the  black-and-scarlet 
of  the  artillery.  A  moment  later  a  bugle  began  to 
sound  the  assembly ;  blue-clad  cavalrymen  appeared 
as  by  magic  from  every  thicket,  every  field,  every  hol 
low,  while  below,  in  the  nearer  valley,  another  bugle, 
shrill  and  fantastic,  summoned  the  squadrons  to  the 
colours.  Already  the  better  part  of  a  regiment  had 
gathered,  four  abreast,  along  the  red  road.  Jack  could 
see  their  eagles  now,  gilt  and  circled  with  gilded 
wreaths. 

He  pocketed  sketch-book  and  pad  and  turned  his 
horse  out  through  the  fields  to  the  road. 

"  We're  off  !"  laughed  Georges.  "Thank  God !  and 
the  devil  take  the  rear-guard !  Will  you  ride  with 
us,  Jack  ?  We've  driven  the  Prussians  across  the 
Saar." 

He  turned  to  his  troopers  and  signalled  the  trum 
peter.  "  Trot  !"  he  cried  ;  and  the  squadron  of  hus 
sars  moved  off  down  the  hill  in  a  whirl  of  dust  and 
flying  pebbles. 

Jack  wheeled  his  horse  and  brought  him  alongside 
of  Georges'  wiry  mount. 

"It  didn't  last  long — eh,  old  chap?"  laughed  the 
youthful  hussar;  "only  from  ten  o'clock  till  noon — 
eh  ?  It's  not  quite  noon  yet.  We're  to  join  the  regi 
ment,  but  where  we're  going  after  that  I  don't  know. 


SAARBRUCK 


They  say  the  Prussians  have  quit  Saarbriick  in  a 
hurry.  I  suppose  we'll  be  in  Germany  to-night,  and 
then — vlan  !  vlan  !  eh,  old  fellow  ?  We'll  be  out  for 
a  long  campaign.  I'd  like  to  see  Berlin — I  wish  I 
spoke  German." 

"They  say/'  said  Jack,  "that  most  of  the  German 
officers  speak  French." 

"  Bird  of  ill  -  omen,  croaker,  cease  !  What  the 
devil  do  we  want  to  learn  German  for  ?  I  can  say, 
'Wein,  Weib,  mid  Gesang,'  and  that's  enough  for 
any  French  hussar  to  know." 

They  had  come  up  with  the  whole  regiment  now, 
which  was  moving  slowly  down  the  valley,  and  Georges 
reported  to  his  captain,  who  in  turn  reported  to  the 
major,  who  presently  had  a  confab  with  the  colone1 
Then  far  away  at  the  head  of  the  column  the  mount 
ed  band  began  the  regimental  march,  a  gay  air  with 
plenty  of  trombone  and  kettle-drum  in  it,  and  the 
horses  ambled  and  danced  in  sympathy,  with  an  ac 
companiment  of  rattling  carbines  and  clinking,  clash 
ing  sabre-scabbards. 

"  Quelle  farandole  !"  laughed  Georges.  ce  Are  you 
going  all  the  way  to  Berlin  with  us  ?  Pst !  Look  ! 
There  go  the  Hundred  -  Guards  !  The  Emperor  is 
coming  back  from  the  front.  It's  all  over  with  the 
sausage-eaters,  et  puis — bon-soir,  Bismarck  !" 

Far  away,  across  the  hills,  the  white  mantles  of  the 
Hundred-Guards  flashed  in  the  sunshine,  rising,  fall 
ing,  as  the  horses  plunged  up  the  hills.  For  a  mo 
ment  Jack  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  carriage  in  the  dis 
tance,  a  carriage  preceded  by  outriders  in  crimson 
and  gold,  and  followed  by  a  mass  of  glittering  cui 
rassiers. 


94  LORRAINE ! 


"  It's  the  Emperor.  Listen,  we  are  going  to  cheer/' 
cried  Georges.  He  rose  in  his  saddle  and  drew  his 
sabre,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  deep  roar  shook  the 
regiment  to  its  centre — 

"ViverEmpereur!" 


AN   UNEXPECTED   ENCOUNTER 

IT  was  a  little  after  noon  when  the  regiment  halted 
on  the  Saint- Avoid  highway,  blocked  in  front  by  a 
train  of  Guard  artillery,  and  on  either  flank  by  col 
umns  of  infantry  —  voltigeurs,  red-legged  fantassins 
loaded  with  camp  equipment,  engineers  in  crimson 
and  bluish  -  black,  and  a  whole  battalion  of  Turcos, 
scarlet  fez  rakishly  hauled  down  over  one  ear,  can 
vas  zouave  trousers  tucked  into  canvas  leggings  that 
fitted  their  finely  moulded  ankles  like  gloves. 

Jack  rested  patiently  on  his  horse,  waiting  for  the 
road  to  be  cleared,  and  beside  him  sat  Georges,  chat 
ting  paternally  with  the  giant  standard-bearer  of  the 
Turcos.  The  huge  fellow  laughed  and  showed  his 
dazzling  teeth  under  the  crisp  jet  beard,  for  Georges 
was  talking  to  him  in  his  native  tongue — and  it  was 
many  miles  from  Saint- A  void  to  Oran.  His  standard, 
ornamented  with  the  "  opened  hand  and  spread  fin 
gers,"  fluttered  and  snapped,  and  stood  out  straight 
in  the  valley  breeze. 

"What's  that  advertisement— the  hand  of  Provi 
dence  ?"  cried  an  impudent  line  soldier,  leaning  on 
his  musket. 

"  Is  it  the  hand  that  spanked  Bismarck  ?"  yelled 
another.  The  Turcos  grinned  under  their  scarlet 
head-dresses. 


„ 


%  LORRAINE 

"  Ohe,  Mustapha  \"  shouted  the  line  soldiers,  "Che, 
le  Croissant  I"  and  their  band-master,  laughing,  raised 
his  tasselled  baton,  and  the  band  burst  out  in  a  roll  of 
drums  and  cymbals,  "Partons  pour  la  Syrie." 

"  Petite  riff  a  I"  said  the  big  standard-bearer,  beam 
ing — which  was  very  good  French  for  a  Kabyle. 

"  See  here,  Georges,"  said  Jack,  suddenly,  "  I've 
promised  to  be  back  at  Morteyn  before  dark,  and  if 
your  regiment  is  going  to  stick  here  much  longer 
I'm  going  on. " 

"  You  want  to  send  your  despatches  ?"  asked 
Georges.  "You  could  ride  on  to  Saarbriick  and 
telegraph  from  there.  Will  you  ?  Then  hunt  up 
the  regiment  later.  We  are  to  see  a  little  of  each 
other,  are  we  not,  old  fellow  ?" 

"Not  if  you're  going  Prussian-hunting  across  the 
Rhine.  When  you  come  back  crowned  with  bay  and 
laurel  and  pretzels,  you  can  stop  at  Morteyn." 

They  nodded  and  clasped  hands. 

"Au  revoir  !"  laughed  Georges.  "What  shall  I 
bring  you  from  Berlin  ?" 

"  I'm  no  Herod,"  replied  Jack  ;  "bring  back  your 
own  feather-head  safely — that's  all  I  ask."  And  with 
a  smile  and  a  gay  salute  the  young  fellows  parted, 
turning  occasionally  in  their  saddles  to  wave  a  last 
adieu,  until  Jack's  big  horse  disappeared  among  the 
dense  platoons  ahead. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  sidled  and  pushed  and 
shoved,  and  picked  a  cautious  path  through  section 
after  section  of  field  artillery,  seeing  here  and  there 
an  officer  whom  he  knew,  saluting  cheerily,  making 
a  thousand  excuses  for  his  haste  to  the  good-natured 
artillerymen,  who  only  grinned  in  reply.  As  he  rode, 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER  97 

he  noted  with  misgivings  that  the  cannon  were  not 
breech-loaders.  He  had  recently  heard  a  good  deal 
about  the  Prussian  new  model  for  field  artillery,  and 
he  had  read,  in  the  French  journals,  reports  of  their 
wonderful  range  and  flat  trajectory.  The  cannon 
that  he  passed,  with  the  exception  of  the  Montigny 
mitrailleuses  and  the  American  gatlings,  were  all 
beautiful  pieces,  bronzed  and  engraved  with  crown 
and  LN  and  eagle,  but  for  all  their  beauty  they  were 
only  muzzle-loaders. 

In  a  little  while  he  came  to  the  head  of  the  column. 
The  road  in  front  seemed  to  be  clear  enough,  and  he 
wondered  why  they  had  halted,  blocking  half  a  divis 
ion  of  infantry  and  cavalry  behind  them.  There  really 
was  no  reason  at  all.  He  did  not  know  it,  but  he  had 
seen  the  first  case  of  that  indescribable  disease  that 
raged  in  France  in  1870-71 — that  malady  that  cannot 
be  termed  paralysis  or  apathy  or  inertia.  It  was  all 
three,  and  it  was  malignant,  for  it  came  from  a  be 
fouled  and  degraded  court,  spread  to  the  government, 
infected  the  provinces,  sparing  neither  prince  nor 
peasant,  until  over  the  whole  fair  land  of  France  it 
crept  and  hung,  a  fetid,  miasmic  effluvia,  till  the  na 
tion,  hopeless,  weary,  despairing,  bereft  of  nerve  and 
sinew,  sank  under  it  into  utter  physical  and  moral 
prostration. 

This  was  the  terrible  fever  that  burned  the  best 
blood  out  of  the  nation — a  fever  that  had  its  incep 
tion  in  the  corruption  of  the  empire,  its  crisis  at 
Sedan,  its  delirium  in  the  Commune  !  The  nation's 
convalescence  is  slow  but  sure. 

Jack  touched  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  out 
into  the  Saarbriick  road.  He  passed  a  heavy,  fat- 


98  LORRAINE  1 

necked  general,  sitting  on  his  horse,  his  dull,  apoplec 
tic  eyes  following  the  gestures  of  a  staff-officer  who 
was  tracing  routes  and  railroads  on  a  map  nailed 
against  a  poplar-tree.  He  passed  other  generals,  deep 
in  consultation,  absently  rolling  cigarettes  between 
their  kid-gloved  fingers ;  and  everywhere  dragoon  pa 
trols,  gallant  troopers  in  blue  and  garance,  wearing 
steel  helmets  bound  with  leopard-skin  above  the  visors. 
He  passed  ambulances,  too,  blue  vehicles  covered  with 
framed  yellow  canvas,  flying  the  red  cross.  One  of  the 
field-surgeons  gave  him  a  brief  outline  of  the  casual 
ties  and  general  result  of  the  battle,  and  he  thanked 
him  and  hastened  on  towards  Saarbrtick,  whence  he 
expected  to  send  his  despatches  to  Paris.  But  now 
the  road  was  again  choked  with  marching  infantry 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  dense  masses,  pushing 
along  in  an  eddying  cloud  of  red  dust  that  blew  to 
the  east  and  hung  across  the  fields  like  smoke  from 
a  locomotive.  Men  with  stretchers  were  passing ; 
he  saw  an  officer,  face  white  as  chalk,  sunburned 
hands  clinched,  lying  in  a  canvas  hand  -  stretcher, 
borne  by  four  men  of  the  hospital  corps.  Edging 
his  way  to  the  meadow,  he  put  his  horse  to  the  ditch, 
cleared  it,  and  galloped  on  towards  a  spire  that  rose 
close  ahead,  outlined  dimly  in  the  smoke  and  dust, 
and  in  ten  minutes  he  was  in  Saarbriick. 

Up  a  stony  street,  desolate,  deserted,  lined  with 
rows  of  closed  machine-shops,  he  passed,  and  out  into 
another  street  where  a  regiment  of  lancers  was  de 
filing  amid  a  confusion  of  shouts  and  shrill  com 
mands,  the  racket  of  drums  echoing  from  wall  to 
pavement,  and  the  ear-splitting  flourish  of  trumpets 
mingled  with  the  heavy  rumble  of  artillery  and  the 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER  99 

cracking  of  leather  thongs.  Already  the  pontoons 
were  beginning  to  span  the  river  Saar,  already  the  en 
gineers  were  swarming  over  the  three  ruined  bridges, 
jackets  cast  aside,  picks  rising  and  falling — clink! 
clank  !  clink  !  clank  ! — and  the  scrape  of  mortar  and 
trowel  on  the  granite  grew  into  an  incessant  sound, 
harsh  and  discordant.  The  market  square  was  impas 
sable  ;  infantry  gorged  every  foot  of  the  stony  pave 
ment,  ambulances  creaked  through  the  throng,  rolling 
like  white  ships  in  a  tempest,  signals  set. 

In  the  sea  of  faces  around  him  he  recognized  the 
correspondent  of  the  London  Times. 

"  Hello,  Williams  I"  he  called  ;  "  where  the  devil  is 
the  telegraph  ?" 

The  Englishman,  red  in  the  face  and  dripping  with 
perspiration,  waved  his  hand  spasmodically. 

"  The  military  are  using  it ;  you'll  have  to  wait 
until  four  o'clock.  Are  you  with  us  in  this  scrim 
mage  ?  The  fellows  are  down  by  the  Hotel  Post  try 
ing  to  mend  the  wires  there.  Archibald  Grahame  is 
with  the  Germans  I" 

Jack  turned  in  his  saddle  with  a  friendly  gesture 
of  thanks  and  adieu.  If  he  were  going  to  send  his 
despatch,  he  had  no  time  to  waste  in  Saarbriick — 
he  understood  that  at  a  glance.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  of  going  to  the  Hotel  Post  and  taking  his 
chances  with  his  brother  correspondents ;  then,  ab 
ruptly  wheeling  his  horse,  he  trotted  out  into  the  long 
shed  that  formed  one  of  an  interminable  series  of  coal 
shelters,  passed  through  it,  gained  the  outer  street, 
touched  up  his  horse,  and  tore  away,  headed  straight 
for  Forbach.  For  lie  had  decided  that  at  Forbach 
was  his  chance  to  beat  the  other  correspondents,  and 


100  LORRAINE  ! 

he  took  the  chance,  knowing  that  in  case  the  tele 
graph  there  was  also  occupied  he  could  still  get  back 
to  Morteyn,  arid  from  there  to  Saint-Lys,  before  the 
others  had  wired  to  their  respective  journals. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  he  clattered  into  the 
single  street  of  Forbach  amid  the  blowing  of  bugles 
from  a  cuirassier  regiment  that  was  just  leaving  at  a 
trot.  The  streets  were  thronged  with  gendarmes  and 
cavalry  of  all  arms,  lancers  in  baggy,  scarlet  trousers 
and  clumsy  schapskas  weighted  with  gold  cord,  chas 
seurs  a  cheval  in  turquoise  blue  and  silver,  dragoons, 
spahis,  remount-troopers,  and  here  and  there  a  huge 
rider  of  the  Hundred-Guards,  glittering  like  a  scaled 
dragon  in  his  splendid  armour. 

He  pushed  his  way  past  the  Hotel  Post  and  into 
the  garden,  where,  at  a  table,  an  old  general  sat  read 
ing  letters. 

With  a  hasty  glance  at  him,  Jack  bowed,  and  asked 
permission  to  take  the  unoccupied  chair  and  use  the 
table.  The  officer  inclined  his  head  with  a  peculiarly 
graceful  movement,  and,  without  more  ado,  Jack  sat 
down,  placed  his  pad  flat  on  the  table,  and  wrote  his 
despatch  in  pencil : 

"  FORBACH,  2d  August,  1870. 

"The  first  shot  of  the  war  was  fired  this  morning  at  ten 
o'clock.  At  that  hour  the  French  opened  on  Saarbriick  with 
twenty-three  pieces  of  artillery.  The  bombardment  continued 
until  twelve.  At  two  o'clock  the  Germans,  having  evacuated 
Saarbruck,  retreated  across  the  Saar  to  Saint-Johann.  The  lat 
ter  village  is  also  now  being  evacuated;  the  French  are  pushing 
across  the  Saar  by  means  of  pontoons ;  the  three  bridges  are 
also  being  rapidly  repaired. 

"  Reports  vary,  but  it  is  probable  that  the  losses  on  the  Ger 
man  side  will  number  four  officers  and  seventy  -  nine  men 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER  101 

killed — wounded  unknown.    The  French  lost  six  officers  and 
eighty  men  killed  ;  wounded  list  not  completed. 

"The  Emperor  was  present  with  the  Prince  Imperial." 

Leaving  liis  pad  on  the  table  and  his  riding-crop 
and  gloves  over  it,  he  gathered  up  the  loose  leaves  of 
his  telegram  and  hastened  across  the  street  to  the 
telegraph  office.  For  the  moment  the  instrument 
was  idle,  and  the  operator  took  his  despatch,  read  it 
aloud  to  the  censor,  an  officer  of  artillery,  who  vised 
it  and  nodded. 

"'A  longer  despatch  is  to  follow- — can  I  have  the 
wires  again  in  half  an  honr  ?"  asked  Jack. 

Both  operator  and  censor  laughed  and  said,  "No 
promises,  monsieur;  come  and  see."  And  Jack  hast 
ened  back  to  the  garden  of  the  hotel  and  sat  down 
once  more  under  the  trees,  scarcely  glancing  at  the 
old  officer  beside  him.  Again  he  wrote  ; 

"  The  truth  is  that  the  whole  affair  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
skirmish.  A  handful  of  the  3d  Battalion  of  Fusilliers,  a  squad 
ron  or  two  of  Uhlans,  and  a  battery  of  Prussian  artillery  have 
for  days  faced  and  held  in  check  a  whole  French  division. 
When  they  were  attacked  they  tranquilly  turned  a  bold  front 
to  the  French,  made  a  devil  of  a  racket  with  their  cannon,  and 
slipped  across  the  frontier  with  trifling  loss.  If  the  French  are 
going  to  celebrate  this  as  a  victory,  Europe  will  laugh — " 

He  paused,  frowning  and  biting  his  pencil.  Pres 
ently  he  noticed  that  several  troopers  of  the  Hundred- 
Guards  were  watching  him  from  the  street ;  sentinels 
of  the  same  corps  were  patrolling  the  garden,  their 
long,  bayoneted  carbines  over  their  steel-bound  shoul 
ders.  At  the  same  moment  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  old 
officer  beside  him.  The  officer  raised  his  head. 

It  was  the  Emperor,  Napoleon  III. 

o 


\ 


XI 

"KEEP  THY  FAITH" 

JACK  was  startled,  and  he  instinctively  stood  up 
very  straight,  as  he  always  did  when  surprised. 

Under  the  Emperor's  crimson  kepi,  heav}?"  with  gold, 
the  old,  old  eyes,  half  closed,  peered  at  him,  as  a  drow 
sy  buzzard  watches  the  sky,  with  filmy,  changeless  gaze. 
His  face  was  the  colour  of  clay,  the  loose  folds  of  the 
cheeks  hung  pallid  over  a  heavy  chin ;  his  lips  were 
hidden  beneath  a  mustache  and  imperial,  unkempt  bufc 
waxed  at  the  ends.  From  the  shadow  of  his  crimson 
cap  the  hair  straggled  forward,  half  hiding  two  large, 
wrinkled,  yellow  ears.  S' 

With  a  smile  and  a  slight  gesture  exquisitely  cour 
teous,  the  Emperor  said :  "Pray  do  not  allow  me  to 
interrupt  you,  monsieur ;  old  soldiers  are  of  small 
account  when  a  nation's  newspapers  wait." 

"Sire  !"  protested  Jack,  flushing. 

Napoleon  III.'s  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  picked  up  his 
letter  again,  still  smiling. 

ef  Such  good  news,  monsieur,  should  not  be  kept  wait 
ing.  You  are  English  ?  No  ?  Then  American  ?  Oh !" 

The  Emperor  rolled  a  cigarette,  gazing  into  vacancy 
with  dreamy  eyes,  narrow  as  slits  in  a  mask.  Jack 
sat  down  again,  pencil  in  hand,  a  little  flustered  and 
uncertain. 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH"  103 

The  Emperor  struck  a  wax-match  on  a  gold  match 
box,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table  to  steady  his  shak 
ing  hand.  Presently  he  slowly  crossed  one  baggy 
red-trouser  knee  over  the  other  and,  blowing  a  cloud 
of  cigarette  smoke  into  the  sunshine,  said :  S(  I  sup 
pose  your  despatch  will  arrive  considerably  in  ad 
vance  of  the  telegrams  of  the  other  correspondents, 
who  seem  to  be  blocked  in  Saarbriick  ?" 

He  glanced  obliquely  at  Jack,  grave  and  impas 
sible. 

"  I  trust  so,  sire,"  said  Jack,  seriously. 

The  Emperor  laughed  outright,  crumpled  the  let 
ter  in  his  gloved  hand,  tossed  the  cigarette  away,  and 
rose- painfully,  leaning  for  support  on  the  table. 

Jack  rose,  too. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Napoleon,  playfully,  as  though  at 
tempting  to  conceal  intense  physical  suffering,  "I 
am  in  search  of  a  motto — for  reasons.  I  shall  have  a 
regiment  or  two  carry  e Saarbruck '  on  their  colours. 
What  motto  should  they  also  carry  ?" 

Jack  spoke  before  he  intended  it — he  never  knew 
why:  "Sire,  the  only  motto  I  know  is  this:  'Tiens 
taFoyP" 

The  Man  of  December  turned  his  narrow  eyes  on 
him.  Then,  bowing  with  the  dignity  and  grace  that 
he,  of  all  living  monarchs,  possessed,  the  Emperor 
passed  slowly  through  the  garden  and  entered  the  lit 
tle  hotel,  the  clash  of  presented  carbines  ringing  in 
the  still  air  behind  him. 

Jack  sat  down,  considerably  exercised  in  his  mind, 
thinking  of  what  he  had  said.  The  splendid  old  cru 
sader's  motto,  "  Keep  thy  Faith,"  was  scarcely  the 
motto  to  suggest  to  the  man  of  the  Coup  d'lStat, 


104  LORRAINE  ! 

the  man  of  Rome,  the  man  of  Mexico.  The  yery 
bones  of  Victor  Noir  would  twist  in  their  coffin  at 
the  words  ;  and  the  lungs  of  that  other  Victor,  the 
one  named  Hugo,  would  swell  and  expand  until  the 
bellowing  voice  rang  like  a  Jersey  fog-siren  over  the 
channel,  over  the  ocean,  till  the  seven  seas  vibrated 
and  the  four  winds  swept  it  to  the  four  ends  of  the 
earth. 

Very  soberly  he  finished  his  despatch,  picked  up 
his  gloves  and  crop,  and  again  walked  over  to  the  tele 
graph  station. 

The  censor  read  the  pencilled  scrawl,  smiled,  drew 
a  red  pencil  through  some  of  it,  smiled  again,  and 
said :  "  I  trust  it  will  not  inconvenience  monsieur  too 
much." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Jack,  pleasantly. 

He  had  not  expected  to  get  it  all  through,  and  he 
bowed  and  thanked  the  censor,  and  went  out  to  where 
his  horse  stood,  cropping  the  tender  leaves  of  a  spread 
ing  chestnut-tree. 

It  was  five  o'clock  by  his  watch  when  he  trotted 
out  into  the  Morteyn  road,  now  entirely  deserted  ex 
cept  by  a  peasant  or  two,  staring,  under  their  inverted 
hands,  at  the  distant  spire  of  Saarbruck. 

Far  away  in  the  valley  he  caught  glimpses  of  troops, 
glancing  at  times  over  his  shoulder,  but  the  distant 
squares  and  columns  on  hill-side  and  road  seemed  to 
be  motionless.  Already  the  thin,  glimmering  line  of 
the  Saar  had  faded  from  view ;  the  afternoon  haze 
hung  blue  on  every  hill-side];  the  woods  were  purple 
and  vague  as  streaks  of  cloud  at  evening. 

He  passed  Saint- Avoid  far  to  the  south,  too  far  to 
see  anything  of  the  division  that  lay  encamped  there ; 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH"  105 

and  presently  he  turned  into  the  river  road  that  fol 
lows  the  Saar  until  the  great  highway  to  Metz  cuts  it 
at  an  acute  angle.  From  this  cross-road  he  could  see 
the  railway,  where  a  line  of  freight-cars,  drawn  by  a 
puffing  locomotive,  was  passing — cars  of  all  colours, 
marked  on  one  end  "  Elsass-Lothringen,"  on  the  other 
"  Alsace-Lorraine. " 

He  had  brought  with  him  a  slice  of  bread  and  a 
flask  of  Moselle,  and,  as  he  had  had  no  time  to  eat 
since  daybreak,  he  gravely  began  munching  away, 
drinking  now  and  then  from  his  flask  and  absently 
eying  the  road  ahead. 

He  thought  of  Lorraine  and  of  his  promise.  If 
only  all  promises  were  as  easily  kept !  He  had  plenty 
of  time  to  reach  Morteyn  before  dark,  taking  it  at 
an  easy  canter,  so  he  let  his  horse  walk  up  the  hills 
while  he  swallowed  his  bread  and  wine  and  mused 
on  war  and  love  and  emperors. 

He  had  been  riding  in  this  abstracted  study  for 
some  time,  and  had  lighted  a  pipe  to  aid  his  dreams, 
when,  from  the  hill-side  ahead,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
something  that  sparkled  in^the  afternoon  sunshine,  and 
he  rose  in  his  saddle  and  looked  to  see  what  it  might  be. 
After  a  moment  he  made  out  five  mounted  troopers, 
moving  about  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  sun  slant 
ing  on  stirrup  metal  and  lance  tip.  As  he  was  about 
to  resume  his  meditations,  something  about  these 
lancers  caught  his  eye — something  that  did  not  seem 
quite  right — he  couldn't  tell  what.  Of  course  they 
were  French  lancers,  they  could  be  nothing  else,  here 
in  the  rear  of  the  army,  but  still  they  were  rather  odd- 
looking  lancers,  after  all. 

The  eyes  of  a  mariner  and  the  eyes  of  a  soldier, 


106  LORRAINE  ! 

or  of  a  man  who  foregathers  with  soldiers,  are  quick 
to  detect  strange  rigging.  Therefore  Jack  unslung 
his  glasses  and  levelled  them  on  the  group  of  mounted 
men,  who  were  now  moving  towards  him  at  an  easy 
lope,  their  tall  lances,  butts  in  stirrups,  swinging 
free  from  the  arm-loops,  their  horses'  manes  tossing 
in  the  hill  breeze. 

The  next  moment  he  seized  his  bridle,  drove  both 
spurs  into  his  horse,  and  plunged  ahead,  dropping  pipe 
and  flask  in  the  road  unheeded.  At  the  same  time  a 
hoarse  shout  came  quavering  across  the  fields,  a  shout 
as  harsh  and  sinister  as  the  menacing  cry  of  a  hawk ; 
but  he  dashed  on,  raising  a  whirlwind  of  red  dust. 
Now  he  could  see  them  plainly  enough,  their  slim 
boots,  their  yellow  facings  and  reverses,  the  shiny  lit 
tle  helmets  with  the  square  tops  like  inverted  goblets, 
the  steel  lances  from  which  black  and  white  pennons 
streamed. 

They  were  Uhlans ! 

For  a  minute  it  was  a  question  in  his  mind  whether 
or  not  they  would  be  able  to  cut  him  off.  A  ditch  in 
the  meadow  halted  them  for  a  second  or  two,  but  they 
took  it  like  chamois  and  came  cantering  up  towards 
the  high-road,  shouting  hoarsely  and  brandishing  their 
lances. 

It  was  true  that,  being  a  non-combatant  and  a  for 
eigner  with  a  passport,  and,  furthermore,  an  accredited 
newspaper  correspondent,  he  had  nothing  to  fear  ex 
cept,  perhaps,  a  tedious  detention  and  a  long-winded 
explanation.  But  it  was  not  that.  He  had  promised 
to  be  at  Morteyn  by  night,  and  now,  if  these  Uhlans 
caught  him  and  marched  him  off  to  their  main  post, 
he  would  certainly  spend  one  night  at  least  in  the 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH'*  107 

woods  or  fields.  A  sudden  anger,  almost  a  fury,  seized 
him  that  these  men  should  interfere  with  his  promise; 
that  they  should  in  any  way  influence  his  own  free 
going  and  coming,  and  he  struck  his  horse  with  the 
riding-crop  and  clattered  on  along  the  highway. 

"Halt!"  shouted  a  voice,  in  German — "halt!  or 
we  fire  I"  and  again  in  French :  "  Halt !  We  shall  fire  I" 

They  were  not  far  from  the  road  now,  but  he  saw 
that  he  could  pass  them  easily. 

"  Halt !  halt  !"  they  shouted,  breathless. 

Instinctively  he  ducked,  and  at  the  same  moment 
piif !  piff !  their  revolvers  began,  and  two  bullets  sang 
past  near  enough  to  make  his  ears  tingle. 

Then  they  settled  down  to  outride  him ;  he  heard 
their  scurry  and  jingle  behind,  arid  for  a  minute  or 
two  they  held  their  own,  but  little  by  little  he  forged 
ahead,  and  they  began  to  shoot  at  him  from  their 
saddles.  One  of  them,  however,  had  not  wasted  time 
in  shooting  ;  Jack  heard  him,  always  behind,  and  now 
he  seemed  to  be  drawing  nearer,  steadily  but  slowly 
closing  up  the  gap  between  them. 

Jack  glanced  back.  There  he  was,  a  big,  blond, 
bony  Uhlan,  lance  couched,  clattering  up  the  hill ; 
but  the  others  had  already  halted  far  behind,  watch 
ing  the  race  from  the  bottom  of  the  incline. 

"  Tiens  ta  Foy,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  digging 
both  spurs  into  his  horse;  "I'll  not  prove  faithless 
to  her  first  request— not  if  I  know  it.  Good  Lord  ! 
how  near  that  Uhlan  is  !" 

Again  he  glanced  behind,  hesitated,  and  finally 
shouted  :  "  Go  back  !  I  am  no  soldier  !  Go  back  !" 

"  I'll  show  you  !"  bellowed  the  Uhlan.  "  Stop  your 
horse  !  or  when  I  catch  you — " 


108  LORRAINE  ! 

"  Go  back  !"  cried  Jack,  angrily  ;  "  go  back  or 
Til  fire  !v  and  lie  whipped  out  bis  long  Colt's  and 
shook  it  above  his  head. 

With  a  derisive  yell  the  Uhlan  banged  away — once, 
twice,  three  times — and  the  bullets  buzzed  around 
Jack's  ears  till  they  sang.  He  swung  around,  crim 
son  with  fury,  and  raised  the  heavy  six-shooter. 

"  By  God  !"  he  shouted  ;  "  then  take  it  yourself  I" 
and  he  fired  one  shot,  standing  up  in  his  stirrups  to 
steady  his  aim. 

He  heard  a  cry,  he  saw  a  horse  rear  straight  up 
through  the  dust :  there  was  a  gleam  of  yellow,  a 
flash  of  a  falling  lance,  a  groan.  Then,  as  he  gal 
loped  on,  pale  and  tight  -  lipped,  a  riderless  horse 
thundered  along  behind  him,  mane  tossing  in  the 
whirling  dust. 

With  sudden  instinct,  Jack  drew  bridle  and  wheeled 
his  trembling  mount — the  riderless  horse  tore  past 
him — and  he  trotted  soberly  back  to  the  dusty  heap 
in  the  road.  It  may  have  merely  been  the  impulse 
to  see  what  he  had  done,  it  may  have  been  a  nobler 
impulse,  for  Jack  dismounted  and  bent  over  the 
fallen  man.  Then  he  raised  him  in  his  arms  by  the 
shoulders  and  drew  him  towards  the  road-side.  The 
Uhlan  was  heavy,  his  spurs  dragged  in  the  dust.  Very 
gently  Jack  propped  him  up  against  a  poplar-tree, 
looked  for  a  moment  at  the  wound  in  his  head,  and 
then  ran  for  his  horse.  It  was  high  time,  too ;  the 
other  Uhlans  came  racing  and  tearing  uphill,  halloo 
ing  like  Cossacks,  and  he  vaulted  into  his  saddle  and 
again  set  spurs  to  his  horse. 

Now  it  was  a  ride  for  life;  he  understood  that 
thoroughly,  and  settled  down  to  it,  bending  low  in 


"KEEP  THY  PATTH"  109 

the  saddle,  bridle  in  one  hand,  revolver  in  the  other. 
And  as  he  rode  his  sobered  thoughts  dwelt  now  on 
Lorraine,  now  on  the  great  lank  Uhlan,,  lying  strick 
en  in  the  red  dust  of  the  highway.  He  seemed  to 
see  him  yet,  blond,  dusty,  the  sweat  in  beads  on  his 
blanched  cheeks,  the  crimson  furrow  in  his  colour 
less  scalp.  He  had  seen,  too,  the  padded  yellow 
shoulder-knots  bearing  the  regimental  number  "  11," 
and  he  knew  that  he  had  shot  a  trooper  of  the  llth 
Uhlans,  and  that  the  llth  Uhlan  Regiment  was  Kick- 
errs  regiment.  He  set  his  teeth  and  stared  fearfully 
over  his  shoulder.  The  pursuit  had  ceased  ;  the  Uh 
lans,  dismounted,  were  gathered  about  the  tree  under 
which  their  comrade  lay  gasping.  Jack  brought  his 
horse  to  a  gallop,  to  a  canter,  and  finally  to  a  trot. 
The  horse  was  not  winded,  but  it  trembled  and  reeked 
with  sweat  and  lather. 

Beyond  him  lay  the  forest  of  La  Bruine,  red  in  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  Beyond  this  the 
road  swung  into  the  Morteyn  road,  that  lay  cool  and 
moist  along  the  willows  that  bordered  the  river 
Lisse. 

The  sun  glided  behind  the  woods  as  he  reached  the 
bridge  that  crosses  the  Lisse,  and  the  evening  glow 
on  feathery  willow  and  dusty  alder  turned  stem  and 
leaf  to  shimmering  rose. 

It  was  seven  o'clock,  and  he  knew  that  he  could 
keep  his  word  to  Lorraine.  And  now,  too,  he  began 
to  feel  the  fatigue  of  the  day  and  the  strain  of  the 
last  two  hours.  In  his  excitement  he  had  not  noticed 
that  two  bullets  had  passed  through  his  jacket,  one 
close  to  the  pocket,  one  ripping  the  gun-pads  at  the 
collar.  The  horse,  too,  was  bleeding  from  the  shoul- 


110  LORRAINE  ! 

der  where  a  long  raw  streak  traced  the  flight  of  a 
grazing  ball. 

His  face  was  pale  and  serious  when,  at  evening,  he 
rode  into  the  porte-cochere  of  the  Chateau  de  Kes- 
ville  and  dismounted,,  stiffly.  He  was  sore,  fatigued, 
and  covered  with  dust  from  cap  to  spur ;  his  eyes, 
heavily  ringed  but  bright,  roamed  restlessly  from  win 
dow  to  porch. 

"  I've  kept  my  faith,"  he  muttered  to  himself — 
"  I've  kept  my  faith,  anyway/'  But  now  he  began 
to  understand  what  might  follow  if  he,  a  foreigner 
and  a  non-combatant,  was  ever  caught  by  the  llth 
regiment  of  Uhlans.  It  sickened  him  when  he 
thought  of  what  he  had  done ,»  he  could  find  no  ex 
cuse  for  himself — not  even  the  shots  that  had  come 
singing  about  his  ears.  Who  was  he,  a  foreigner, 
that  he  should  shoot  down  a  brave  German  cavalry 
man  who  was  simply  following  instructions  ?  His 
promise  to  Lorraine  ?  Was  that  sufficient  excuse  for 
taking  human  life  ?  Puzzled,  weary,  and  profoundly 
sad,  he  stood  thinking,  undecided  what  to  do.  He 
knew  that  he  had  not  killed  the  Uhlan  outright,  but, 
whether  or  not  the  soldier  could  recover,  he  was  un 
certain.  He,  who  had  seen  the  horrors  of  naked, 
gaping  wounds  at  Sadowa  —  he  who  had  seen  the 
pitiable  sights  of  Oran,  where  Chanzy  and  his  troops 
had  swept  the  land  in  a  whirlwind  of  flame  and  sword 
— he,  this  same  cool  young  fellow,  could  not  con 
template  that  dusty  figure  in  the  red  road  without 
a  shudder  of  self-accusation — yes,  of  self-disgust.  He 
told  himself  that  he  had  fired  too  quickly,  that  he 
had  fired  in  anger,  not  in  self -protection.  He  felt 
sure  that  he  could  have  outridden  the  Uhlan  in  the 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH"  ill 

end.  Perhaps  lie  was  too  severe  on  himself ;  he  did 
not  think  of  the  fusillade  at  his  back,  his  coat  torn  by 
two  bullets,  the  raw  furrow  on  his  horse's  shoulder. 
He  only  asked  himself  whether,  to  keep  his  promise, 
he  was  justified  in  what  he  had  done,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  acted  hastily  and  in  anger,  and  that  he  was  a 
very  poor  specimen  of  young  men.  It  was  just  as 
well,  perhaps,  that  he  thought  so  ;  the  sentiment  un 
der  the  circumstances  was  not  unhealthy.  Moreover, 
he  knew  in  his  heart  that,  under  any  conditions,  he 
would  place  his  duty  to  Lorraine  first  of  all.  So  he 
was  puzzled  and  tired  and  unhappy  when  Lorraine, 
her  arms  full  of  brook-lilies,  came  down  the  gravel 
drive  and  said :  "  You  have  kept  your  faith,  you  shall 
wear  a  lily  for  me  ;  will  you  ?" 

He  could  not  meet  her  eyes,  he  could  scarcely  re 
ply  to  her  shy  questions. 

When  she  saw  the  wounded  horse  she  grieved  over 
its  smarting  shoulder,  and  insisted  on  stabling  it  her 
self. 

' '  Wait  for  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  insist.  You  must  find 
a  glass  of  wine  for  yourself  and  go  with  old  Pierre 
and  dust  your  clothes.  Then  come  back  ;  I  shall  be 
in  the  arbour." 

He  looked  after  her  until  she  entered  the  stables, 
leading  the  exhausted  horse  with  a  tenderness  that 
touched  him  deeply.  He  felt  so  mean,  so  contemp 
tible,  so  utterly  beneath  the  notice  of  this  child  who 
stood  grieving  over  his  wounded  horse. 

A  dusty  and  dirty  and  perspiring  man  is  at  a  dis 
advantage  with  himself.  His  misdemeanours  assume 
exaggerated  proportions,  especially  when  he  is  con 
fronted  with  a  girl  in  a  cool  gown  that  is  perfumed 


112  LORRAINE 


by  blossoms  pnre  and  spotless  and  fragrant  as  the 
young  breast  that  crushes  them. 

So  when  he  had  found  old  Pierre  and  had  followed 
him  to  a  bath-room,  the  water  that  washed  the  stains 
from  brow  and  wrist  seemed  also  to  purify  the  stain 
that  is  popularly  supposed  to  resist  earthly  ablutions. 
A  clean  body  and  a  clean  conscience  is  not  a  proverb, 
but  there  are,  perhaps,  worse  maxims  in  the  world. 

When  he  dried  his  face  and  looked  into  a  mirror, 
his  sins  had  dwindled  a  bit ;  when  Pierre  dusted  his 
clothes  and  polished  his  spurs  and  boots,  life  assumed 
a  brighter  aspect.  Fatigue,  too,  came  to  dull  that 
busybody  —  that  tireless,  gossiping  gadabout  —  con 
science.  Fatigue  and  remorse  are  enemies;  slumber 
and  the  white  flag  of  sleep  stand  truce  between  them. 

"  Pierre,"  he  said  ;  "  get  a  dog-cart ;  I  am  going  to 
drive  to  Morteyn.  You  will  find  me  in  the  arbour 
on  the  lawn.  Is  the  marquis  visible  ?" 

"  N o,  Monsieur  Jack,  he  is  still  locked  up  in  the 
turret." 

"  And  the  balloon  ?" 

"Dame  !     Je  n'en  sais  rien,  monsieur." 

So  Jack  walked  down  -  stairs  and  out  through  the 
porch  to  the  lawn,  where  he  saw  Lorraine  already 
seated  in  the  arbour,  placing  the  long-stemmed  lilies 
in  gilded  bowls. 

"It  will  be  dark  soon,"  he  said,  stepping  up  beside 
her.  "  Thank  you  for  being  good  to  my  horse.  Is  it 
more  than  a  scratch  ?" 

"'No — it  is  nothing.  The  horse  shall  stand  in  our 
stable  until  to-morrow.  Are  you  very  tired  ?  Sit  be 
side  me.  Do  you  care  to  tell  me  anything  of  what 
you  did  ?" 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH"  113 

"  Do  yon  care  to  know  ?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said. 

So  he  told  her ;  not  all,  however — not  of  that  ride 
and  the  chase  and  the  shots  from  the  saddle.  But  he 
spoke  of  the  Emperor  and  the  distant  battle  that  had 
seemed  like  a  scene  in  a  painted  landscape.  He  told 
her,  too,  of  Georges  Carriere. 

"Why,  I  know  him,"  she  said,  brightening  with 
pleasure  ;  "  he  is  charming — isn't  he  ?" 

ee  Why,  yes,"  said  Jack ;  but  for  all  he  tried  his 
voice  sounded  coldly. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?"  asked  Lorraine,  opening  her 
blue  eyes. 

Again  he  tried  to  speak  warmly  of  the  friend  he 
was  really  fond  of,  and  again  he  felt  that  he  had 
failed.  Why  ?  He  would  not  ask  himself — but  he 
knew.  This  shamed  him,  and  he  began  an  elaborate 
eulogy  on  poor  Georges,  conscientious,  self-effacing, 
but  very,  very  unsatisfactory. 

The  maid  beside  him  listened  demurely.  She  also 
knew  things  that  she  had  not  known  a  week  ago. 
That  possibly  is  why,  like  a  little  bird  stretching  its 
new  wings,  she  also  tried  her  own  resources,  innocent 
ly,  timidly.  And  the  torment  of  Jack  began. 

"Monsieur  Marche,  do  you  think  that  Lieutenant 
Carriere  may  come  to  Morteyn  ?" 

"  He  said  he  would ;  I — er — I  hope  he  will.  Don't 
you  ?" 

"I  ?    Oh  yes.     When  will  he  come  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jack,  sulkily. 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  you  were  very  fond  of  him  and 
that,  of  course,  you  would  know  when — " 

"Nobody  knows ;  if  he's  gone  with  the  army  into 


114  LORRAINE  ! 

Germany  it  is  impossible  to  say  when  the  war  will 
end."  Then  he  made  a  silly,  boorish  observation 
which  was,  "I  hope  for  your  sake  he  will  come  soon." 

Oh,  but  he  was  ashamed  of  it  now  !  The  groom  in 
the  stable  yonder  would  have  had  better  tact.  Truly, 
it  takes  a  man  of  gentle  breeding  to  demonstrate 
what  under-breeding  really  can  be.  If  Lorraine  was 
shocked  she  did  not  show  it.  A  maid  unloved,  un 
loving.,  pardons  nothing ;  a  maid  with  a  lover  invests 
herself  with  all  powers  and  prerogatives,  and  the  great 
est  of  these  is  the  power  to  pardon.  It  is  not  only  a 
power,  it  is  a  "need,  a  desire,  an  imperative  necessity 
to  pardon  much  in  him  who  loves  much.  This  may 
be  only  because  she  also  understands.  Pardon  and 
doubt  repel  each  other.  So  Lorraine,  having  grown 
wise  in  a  week,  pardoned  Jack  mentally.  Outwardly 
it  was  otherwise,  and  Jack  became  aware  that  the  at 
mosphere  was  uncomfortably  charged  with  lightning. 
It  gleamed  a  moment  in  her  eyes  ere  her  lips  opened. 

"Take  your  dog -cart  and  go  back  to  Morteyn," 
said  Lorraine,  quietly. 

"  Let  rne  stay ;  I  am  ashamed,"  he  said,  turning 
red. 

"No ;  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  again — for  a  long, 
long  time — forever." 

Her  head  was  bent  and  her  fingers  were  busy  among 
the  lilies  in  the  gilded  bowl. 

tf  Do  you  send  me  away  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  are  more  than  rude/' 

"I  am  ashamed ;  forgive  me," 

"No," 


"KEEP  THY  FAITH"  115 

She  glanced  up  at  him  from  her  drooping  lashes. 
She  had  pardoned  him  long  ago. 

"No,"  she  repeated,  "I  cannot  forgive." 

"  Lorraine — " 

"There  is  the  dog -cart,"  she  whispered,  almost 
breathlessly.  So  he  said  good-night  and  went  away. 

She  stood  on  the  dim  lawn,  her  arms  full  of  blos 
soms,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  wheels  until  they 
died  away  beyond  the  park  gate. 

She  had  turned  whiter  than  the  lilies  at  her  breast. 
This  was  because  she  was  still  very  young  and  not 
quite  as  wise  as  some  maidens. 

For  the  same  reason  she  left  her  warm  bed  that 
night  to  creep  through  the  garden  and  slip  into  the 
stable  and  lay  her  tear-stained  cheeks  on  the  neck  of 
Jack's  horse. 


FROM   THE    FRONTIER 

DURING  the  next  three  days,  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  known  her,  he  did  not  go  to  see  Lorraine. 
How  he  stood  it — how  he  ever  dragged  through  those 
miserable  hours — he  himself  never  could  understand. 

The  wide  sculptured  eyes  of  Our  Lady  of  Morteyn 
above  the  shrine  seemed  to  soften  when  he  went  there 
to  sit  at  her  feet  and  stare  at  nothing.  It  was  not 
tears,  but  dew,  that  gathered  under  the  stone  lids,  for 
the  night  had  grown  suddenly  hot,  and  everything  lay 
moist  in  the  starlight.  Night  changed  to  midnight, 
and  midnight  to  dawn,  and  dawn  to  another  day, 
cloudless,  pitiless;  and  Jack  awoke  again,  and  his 
waking  thought  was  of  Lorraine. 

All  day  long  he  sat  with  the  old  vicomte,  reading 
to  him  when  he  wished,  playing  interminable  games 
of  chess,  sick  at  heart  with  a  longing  that  almost 
amounted  to  anger.  He  could  not  tell  his  aunt.  As 
far  as  that  went,  the  wise  old  lady  had  divined  thai 
their  first  trouble  had  come  to  them  in  all  the  appall 
ing  and  exaggerated  proportions  that  such  troubles 
assume,  but  she  smiled  gently  to  herself,  for  she,  too, 
had  been  young,  and  the  ways  of  lovers  had  been  her 
ways,  and  the  paths  of  love  she  had  trodden,  and  she 
had  drained  love's  cup  at  bitter  springs. 


FROM  THE   FRONTIER  117 

That  night  she  came  to  his  bedside  and  kissed  him, 
saying:  " To-morrow  you  shall  carry  my  love  and  my 
thanks  to  Lorraine  for  her  care  of  the  horse." 

"I  can't,"  muttered  Jack. 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Madame  de  Morteyn,  and  closed  the 
bedroom  door  ;  and  Jack  slept  better  that  night. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  before  he  ap 
peared  at  breakfast,  and  it  was  plain,  even  to  the 
thrush  on  the  lawn  outside,  that  he  had  bestowed  an 
elaboration  upon  his  toilet  that  suggested  either  a 
duel  or  a  wedding. 

Madame  de  Morteyn  hid  her  face,  for  she  could  not 
repress  the  smile  that  tormented  her  sweet  mouth. 
Even  the  vicomte  said:  "Oh!  You're  not  off  fo* 
Paris,  Jack,  are  you  ?" 

After  breakfast  he  wandered  moodily  out  to  the  ter 
race,  where  his  aunt  found  him  half  an  hour  later, 
mooning  and  contemplating  his  spotless  gloves. 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  to  ride  over  to  the  Chateau 
de  Nesville  ?"  she  asked,  trying  not  to  laugh. 

' t  Oh  !"  he  said,  with  affected  surprise,  "  did  yoR 
wish  me  to  go  to  the  Chateau  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jack  dear,  if  you  are  not  too  much  occu 
pied."    She  could  not  repress  the  mischievous  accent 
on  the  "  too."    "  Are  you  going  to  drive  ?" 

' '  No  ;  I  shall  walk — unless  you  are  in  a  hurry." 

"  No  more  than  you  are,  dear,"  she  said,  gravely. 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  suspicion,  but  she 
was  not  smiling. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  gloomily. 

About  eleven  o'clock  he  had  sauntered  half  the  dis 
tance  down  the  forest  road  that  leads  to  the  Chateau 
de  Nesville.  His  heart  seemed  to  tug  and  tug  and 

9 


118  LORRAINE  ! 

urge  him  forward ;  his  legs  refused  obedience ;  he 
sulked.  But  there  was  the  fresh  smell  of  loam  and 
moss  and  aromatic  leaves,  the  music  of  the  Lisse  on 
the  pebbles,  the  joyous  chorus  of  feathered  creatures 
from  every  thicket,  and  there  were  the  antics  of  the 
giddy  young  rabbits  that  scuttled  through  the  war 
rens,  leaping,  tumbling,  sitting  up,  lop-eared  and  im 
pudent,  or  diving  head-first  into  their  burrows. 

Under  the  stems  of  a  thorn  thicket  two  cock- 
pheasants  were  having  a  difference,  and  were  enthu 
siastically  settling  that  difference  in  the  approved 
method  of  game  -  cocks.  He  lingered  to  see  which 
might  win,  but  a  misstep  and  a  sudden  crack  of  a 
dry  twig  startled  them,  and  they  withdrew  like  two 
stately  but  indignant  old  gentlemen  who  had  been 
subjected  to  uncalled-for  importunities. 

Presently  he  felt  cheerful  enough  to  smoke,  and  he 
searched  in  every  pocket  for  his  pipe.  Then  he  re 
membered  that  he  had  dropped  it  when  he  dropped 
his  silver  flask,  there  in  the  road  where  he  had  first 
been  startled  by  the  Uhlans. 

This  train  of  thought  depressed  him  again,  but  he 
resolutely  put  it  from  his  mind,  lighted  a  cigarette, 
and  moved  on. 

Just  ahead,  around  the  bend  in  the  path,  lay  the 
grass-grown  carrefour  where  he  had  first  seen  Lor 
raine.  He  thought  of  her  as  he  remembered  her 
then,  flushed,  indignant,  blocking  the  path  while  the 
map-making  spy  sneered  in  her  face  and  crowded 
past  her,  still  sneering.  He  thought,  too,  of  her 
scarlet  skirt,  and  the  little  velvet  bodice  and  the  silver 
chains.  He  thought  of  her  heavy  hair,  dishevelled, 
glimmering  in  her  eyes.  At  the  same  moment  he 


FROM  THE   FRONTIER  119 

turned  the  corner ;  the  carrefour  lay  before  him,  over 
grown,  silent,  deserted.  A  snddeii  tenderness  filled 
his  heart  —  ah,  how  we  love  those  whom  we  have 
protected  ! — and  he  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  sun 
shine  with  bowed  head,  living  over  the  episode  that 
he  could  never  forget.  Every  word,  every  gesture, 
the  shape  of  the  very  folds  in  her  skirt,  he  remem 
bered  ;  yes,  and  the  little  triangular  tear,  the  broken 
silver  chain,  the  ripped  bodice  ! 

And  she,  in  her  innocence,  had  promised  to  see  him 
there  at  the  river-bank  below.  He  had  never  gone, 
because  that  very  night  she  had  come  to  Morteyn, 
and  since  then  he  had  seen  her  every  day  at  her  own 
home. 

As  he  stood  he  could  hear  the  river  Lisse  whisper 
ing,  calling  him.  He  would  go — just  to  see  the  hidden 
rendezvous— for  old  love's  sake ;  it  was  a  step  from 
the  path,  no  more. 

Then  that  strange  instinct,  that  sudden  certainty 
that  comes  at  times  to  all,  seized  him,  and  he  knew 
that  Lorraine  was  there  by  the  river ;  he  knew  it  as 
surely  as  though  he  saw  her  before  him. 

And  she  was  there,  standing  by  the  still  water, 
silver  chains  drooping  over  the  velvet  bodice,  scarlet 
skirt  hanging  brilliant  and  heavy  as  a  drooping  poppy 
in  the  sun. 

"  Dear  me,"  she  said,  very  calmly,  "  I  thought  you 
had  quite  forgotten  me.  Why  have  you  not  been  to 
the  Chateau,  Monsieur  Marche  ?" 

And  this,  after  she  had  told  him  to  go  away  and 
not  to  return  !  Wise  in  the  little  busy  ways  of  the 
world  of  men,  he  was  uneducated  in  the  ways  of  a 
maid, 


120  LORRAINE  ! 

Therefore  he  was  speechless. 

"  And  now/'  she  said,  with  the  air  of  an  early  Chris 
tian  tete-a-tete  with  Nero  —  "and  now  you  do  not 
speak  to  me?  Why?" 

"  Because,"  he  blurted  out, ' ( I  thought  you  did  not 
care  to  have  me  I" 

Surprise,  sorrow,  grief  gave  place  to  pity  in  her 
eyes. 

' '  What  a  silly  man  I"  she  observed.  "  I  am  going  to 
sit  down  on  the  moss.  Are  you  intending  to  call  upon 
my  father  ?  He  is  still  in  the  turret.  If  you  can 
spare  a  moment  I  will  tell  you  what  he  is  doing." 

Yes,  he  had  a  moment  to  spare  —  not  many  mo 
ments — he  hoped  she  would  understand  that ! — but 
he  had  one  or  two  little  ones  at  her  disposal. 

She  read  this  in  his  affected  hesitation.  She  would 
make  him  pay  dearly  for  it.  Vengeance  should  be 
hers ! 

He  stood  a  moment,  eying  the  water  as  though  it 
had  done  him  personal  injury.  Then  he  sat  down. 

"The  balloon  is  almost  ready,  steering-gear  and 
all,"  she  said.  (<  I  saw  papa  yesterday  for  a  moment ; 
I  tried  to  get  him  to  stay  with  me,  but  he  could  not." 

She  looked  wistfully  across  the  river. 

Jack  watched  her.  His  heart  ached  for  her,  and 
he  bent  nearer. 

"Forgive  me  for  causing  you  any  unhappiness," 
he  said.  "  Will  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

Oh  !  where  was  her  vengeance  now  ?  So  far  beneath 
her! 

"  These  four  days  have  been  the  most  wretched  days 
to  me,  the  most  unhappy  I  have  ever  lived,"  he  said, 


FROM  THE  FRONTIER  121 

The  emotion  in  his  voice  brought  the  soft  colour  to 
her  face.  She  did  not  answer ;  she  would  haye  if  she 
had  wished  to  check  him. 

"  I  will  never  again,  as  long  as  I  live,  give  you  one 
moment's — displeasure."  He  was  going  to  say ' '  pain," 
but  he  dared  not. 

Still  she  was  silent,  her  idle  white  fingers  clasped 
in  her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  river.  Little  by  little 
the  colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks.  It  was  when  she 
felt  them  burning  that  she  spoke,  nervously,  scarcely 
comprehending  her  own  words  :  "  I — I  also  was  un 
happy—I  was  silly ;  we  both  are  very  silly — don't  you 
think  so  ?  We  are  such  good  friends  that  it  seems 
absurd  to  quarrel  as  we  have.  I  have  forgotten  every 
thing  that  was  unpleasant — it  was  so  little  that  I  could 
not  remember  if  I  tried  !  Could  you  ?  I  am  very  hap 
py  now ;  I  am  going  to  listen  while  you  amuse  me 
with  stories."  She  curled  up  against  a  tree  and  smiled 
at  him — at  the  love  in  his  eyes  which  she  dared  not 
read,  which  she  dared  not  acknowledge  to  herself. 
It  was  there,  plain  enough  for  a  wilful  maid  to  see ; 
it  burned  under  his  sun  -  tanned  cheeks,  it  soft 
ened  the  firm  lips.  A  thrill  of  contentment  passed 
through  her.  She  was  satisfied ;  the  world  was  kind 
again. 

He  lay  at  her  feet,  pulling  blades  of  grass  from  the 
bank  and  idly  biting  the  whitened  stems.  The  voice 
of  the  Lisse  was  in  his  ears,  he  breathed  the  sweet 
wood  perfume  and  he  saw  the  sunlight  wrinkle  and 
crinkle  the  surface  ripples  where  the  water  washed 
through  the  sedges,  and  the  long  grasses  quivered  and 
bent  with  the  glittering  current. 

"  Tell  you  stories  ?"  he  asked  again. 


122  LORRAINE  ! 

"Yes  —  stories  that  never  have  really  happened — 
but  that  should  have  happened." 

"  Then  listen  !  There  was  once — many,  many  years 
ago — a  maid  and  a  man — " 

Good  gracious — but  that  story  is  as  old  as  life  it 
self  !  He  did  not  realize  it,  nor  did  she.  It  seemed 
new  to  them. 

The  sun  of  noon  was  moving  towards  the  west  when 
they  remembered  that  they  were  hungry. 

(<  You  shall  come  home  and  lunch  with  me ;  will 
you  ?  Perhaps  papa  may  be  there,  too,"  she  said. 
This  hope,  always  renewed  with  every  dawn,  always 
fading  with  the  night,  lived  eternal  in  her  breast — 
this  hope,  that  one  day  she  should  have  her  father  to 
herself. 

Sf  Will  you  come  ?"  she  asked,  shyly. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  it  will  be  our  first  luncheon 
together  ?" 

"  Oh,  but  you  brought  me  an  ice  at  the  dance  that 
evening  ;  don't  you  remember  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  not  a  supper — I  mean  a  luncheon 
together  —  with  a  table  between  us  and  —  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

"  I  don't,"  she  said,  smiling  dreamily  ;  so  he  knew 
that  she  did. 

They  hurried  a  little  on  the  way  to  the  Chateau, 
and  he  laughed  at  her  appetite,  which  made  her  laugh, 
too,  only  she  pretended  not  to  like  it. 

At  the  porch  she  left  him  to  change  her  gown,  and 
slipped  away  up-stairs,  while  he  found  old  Pierre  and 
was  ddsted  and  fussed  over  until  he  couldn't  stand 
it  another  moment.  Luckily  he  heard  Lorraine  call 
ing  her  maid  on  the  porch,  and  he  went  to  her  at  once. 


FROM  THE  FRONTIER  123 

"Papa  says  you  may  lunch  here — I  spoke  to  him 
through  the  key-hole.  It  is  all  ready  ;  will  you  come?" 

A  serious-minded  maid  served  them  with  salad  and 
thin  bread-and-butter. 

"  Tea  I"  exclaimed  Jack. 

"  Isn't  that  very  American  ?"  asked  Lorraine,  timid 
ly.  "I  thought  you  might  like  it ;  I  understood  that 
all  Americans  drank  tea." 

"  They  do/'  he  said,  gravely  ;  "  it  is  a  terrible  habit 
— a  national  vice — but  they  do." 

"  Now  you  are  laughing  at  me  !"  she  cried.  "  Mari 
anne,  please  to  remove  that  tea  !  No,  no,  I  won't  leave 
it — and  you  can  suffer  if  you  wish.  And  to  think 
that  I—" 

Th«y  were  both  laughing  so  that  the  maid's  face 
grew  more  serious,  and  she  removed  the  teapot  as 
though  she  were  bearing  some  strange  and  poisonous 
creature  to  a  deserved  doom. 

As  they  sat  opposite  each  other,  smiling,  a  little 
flurried  at  finding  themselves  alone  at  table  together, 
but  eating  with  the  appetites  of  very  young  lovers, 
the  warm  summer  wind,  blowing  through  the  open 
windows,  bore  to  their  ears  the  songs  of  forest  birds. 
It  bore  another  sound,  too ;  Jack  had  heard  it  for 
the  last  two  hours,  or  had  imagined  he  heard  it — a 
low,  monotonous  vibration,  now  almost  distinct,  now 
lost,  now  again  discernible,  but  too  vague,  too  indefi 
nite  to  be  anything  but  that  faint  summer  harmony 
which  conies  from  distant  breezes,  distant  movements, 
mingling  with  the  stir  of  drowsy  field  insects,  half 
torpid  in  the  heat  of  noon. 

Still  it  was  always  there  ;  and  now,  turning  his  ear 
to  the  window,  he  laid  down  knife  and  fork  to  listen. 


124  LORRAINE! 

"  I  have  also  noticed  it,"  said  Lorraine,  answering 
his  unasked  question. 

"Do  you  hear  it  now  ?" 

"  Yes — more  distinctly  now." 

A  few  moments  later  Jack  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  listened  again. 

"Yes,"  said  Lorraine,  "it  seems  to  come  nearer. 
What  is  it  ?" 

"  It  comes  from  the  southeast.  I  don't  know,"  he 
answered. 

They  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  She  was  so 
near  that  he  breathed  the  subtle  fragrance  of  her 
hair,  the  fresh  sweetness  of  her  white  gown,  that  rus 
tled  beside  him. 

"  Hark  !"  whispered  Lorraine  ;  "I  can  almost  hear 
voices  in  the  breezes — the  murmur  of  voices,  as  if  mill 
ions  of  tiny  people  were  calling  us  from  the  ends  and 
outer  edges  of  the  earth." 

"  There  is  a  throbbing,  too.     Do  you  notice  it  ?" 

"  Yes — like  one's  heart  at  night.  Ah,  now  it  comes 
nearer — oh,  nearer  !  nearer  !  Oh,  what  can  it  be  ?" 

He  knew  now ;  he  knew  that  indefinable  battle — 
rumour  that  steals  into  the  senses  long  before  it  is 
really  audible.  It  is  not  a  sound — not  even  a  vibra 
tion  ;  it  is  an  immense  foreboding  that  weights  the 
air  with  prophecy. 

"  From  the  south  and  east,"  he  repeated ;  "  from 
the  Landesgrenze." 

"  The  frontier  ?" 

"  Yes.     Hark  !" 

"  I  hear." 

"  From  the  frontier,"  he  said  again.  ' '  From  the 
river  Lauter  and  from  Wissembourg." 


FROM  THE  FRONTIER  125 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  whispered,  close  beside  him. 

"  Cannon  I" 

Yes,  it  was  cannon — they  knew  it  now — cannon 
throbbing,  throbbing,  throbbing  along  the  horizon 
where  the  crags  of  the  Geisberg  echoed  the  dull  thun 
der  and  shook  it  far  out  across  the  vineyards  of  Wis- 
sembourg,  where  the  heights  of  Kapsweyer,  resound 
ing,  hurled  back  the  echoes  to  the  mountains  in  the 
north. 

"  Why — why  does  it  seem  to  come  nearer  ?"  asked 
Lorraine. 

"  Nearer  ?"  He  knew  it  had  come  nearer,  but  how 
could  he  tell  her  what  that  meant  ? 

"  It  is  a  battle — is  it  not  ?"  she  asked  again. 

"  Yes,  a  battle." 

She  said  nothing  more,  but  stood  leaning  along  the 
wall,  her  white  forehead  pressed  against  the  edge  of 
the  raised  window -sash.  Outside,  the  little  birds 
had  grown  suddenly  silent ;  there  was  a  stillness  that 
comes  before  a  rain ;  the  leaves  on  the  shrubbery 
scarcely  moved. 

And  now,  nearer  and  nearer  swelled  the  rumour  of 
battle,  undulating,  quavering  over  forest  and  hill,  and 
the  muttering  of  the  cannon  grew  to  a  rumble  that 
jarred  the  air. 

As  currents  in  the  upper  atmosphere  shift  and  set 
tle  north,  south,  east,  west,  so  the  tide  of  sound  wa 
vered  and  drifted,  and  set  westward,  flowing  nearer 
and  nearer  and  louder  and  louder,  until  the  hoarse, 
crashing  tumult,  still  vague  and  distant,  was  cut  by 
the  sharper  notes  of  single  cannon  that  spoke  out, 
suddenly  impetuous,  in  the  dull  din. 

The  whole  Chateau  was  awake  now  ;  maids,  grooms, 


126  LORBAINE ! 

valets,  gardeners,  and  keepers  were  gathering  outside 
the  iron  grille  of  the  park,  whispering  together  and 
looking  out  across  the  fields. 

There  was  nothing  to  see  except  pastures  and 
woods,  and  low -rounded  hills  crowned  with  vine 
yards.  Nothing  more  except  a  single  strangely  shaped 
cloud,  sombre,  slender  at  the  base,  but  spreading  at 
the  top  like  a  palm. 

"  I  am  going  up  to  speak  to  your  father/'  said  Jack, 
carelessly  ;  "may  I  ?" 

Interrupt  her  father  !    Lorraine  fairly  gasped. 

"  Stay  here,"  he  added,  with  the  faintest  touch  of 
authority  in  his  tone ;  and,  before  she  could  protest, 
he  had  sped  away  up  the  staircase  and  round  and 
round  the  long  circular  stairs  that  led  to  the  single 
turret. 

A  little  out  of  breath,  he  knocked  at  the  door  which 
faced  the  top  step.  There  was  no  answer.  He  rapped 
again,  impatiently.  A  voice  startled  him :  "  Lor 
raine,  I  am  busy  !" 

"  Open,"  called  Jack  ;  "  I  must  see  you  I" 

"  I  am  busy  I"  replied  the  marquis.  Irritation  and 
surprise  were  in  his  tones. 

' '  Open  I"  called  Jack  again  ;  "  there  is  no  time  to 
lose  !" 

Suddenly  the  door  was  jerked  back  and  the  mar 
quis  appeared,  pale,  handsome,  his  eyes  cold  and  blue 
as  icebergs. 

6 '  Monsieur  Marche — "  he  began,  almost  discour 
teously. 

"Pardon,"  interrupted  Jack;  "I  am  going  into 
your  room.  I  wish  to  look  out  of  that  turret  win 
dow.  Come  also — you  must  know  what  to  expect." 


FROM  THE  FRONTIER  127 

Astonished,  almost  angry,  the  Marquis  de  Nes- 
ville  followed  him  to  the  turret  window. 

"  Oh,"  said  Jack,  softly,  staring  out  into  the  sun 
shine,  "it  is  time,  is  it  not,  that  we  knew  what  was 
going  on  along  the  frontier  ?  Look  there  \" 

On  the  horizon  vast  shapeless  clouds  lay  piled, 
gigantic  coils  and  masses  of  vapour,  dark,  ominous, 
illuminated  by  faint,  pallid  lights  that  played  under 
them  incessantly ;  and  over  all  towered  one  tall  col 
umn  of  smoke,  spreading  above  like  an  enormous 
palm-tree.  But  this  was  not  all.  The  vast  panorama 
of  hill  and  valley  and  plain,  cut  by  roads  that  un 
dulated  like  narrow  satin  ribbons  on  a  brocaded  sur 
face,  was  covered  with  moving  objects,  swarming,  in 
undating  the  landscape.  To  the  south  a  green  hill 
grew  black  with  the  human  tide,  to  the  north  long 
lines  and  oblongs  and  squares  moved  across  the  land, 
slowly,  almost  imperceptibly — but  they  were  moving, 
always  moving  east. 

"  It  is  an  army  coming,"  said  the  marquis. 

"  It  is  a  rout,"  said  Jack,  quietly. 

The  marquis  moved  suddenly,  as  though  to  avoid 
a  blow. 

"  What  troops  are  those  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  si 
lence. 

"It  is  the  French  army,"  replied  Jack.  "Have 
you  not  heard  the  cannonade  ?" 

"No — my  machines  make  some  noise  when  I'm 
working.  I  hear  it  now.  What  is  that  cloud — a 
fire  r 

"It  is  the  battle  cloud." 

' f  And  the  smoke  on  the  horizon  ?" 

"  The  smoke  from  the  guns.    They  are  fighting  be- 


128  LORRAINE  ! 

yond  Saarbrtick — yes,  beyond  Pfalzburg  and  Worth ; 
they  are  fighting  beyond  the  Lauter." 

"  Wissembourg  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  They  are  nearer  now.  Monsieur  de 
Nesville,  the  battle  has  gone  against  the  French." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  demanded  the  marquis, 
harshly. 

"I  have  seen  battles.  One  need  only  listen  and 
look  at  the  army  yonder.  They  will  pass  Morteyn ;  I 
think  they  will  pass  for  miles  through  the  country. 
It  looks  to  me  like  a  retreat  towards  Metz,  but  I  am 
not  sure.  The  throngs  of  troops  below  are  fugitives, 
not  the  regular  geometrical  figures  that  you  see  to 
the  north.  Those  are  regiments  and  divisions  mov 
ing  towards  the  west  in  good  order." 

The  two  men  stepped  back  into  the  room  and  faced 
each  other. 

"After  the  rain  the  flood,  after  the  rout  the  inva 
sion,"  said  Jack,  firmly.  "  You  cannot  know  it  too 
quickly.  You  know  it  now,  and  you  can  make  your 
plans." 

He  was  thinking  of  Lorraine's  safety  when  he  spoke, 
but  the  marquis  turned  instinctively  to  a  mass  of 
machinery  and  chemical  paraphernalia  behind  him. 

"You  will  have  your  hands  full,"  said  Jack,  re 
pressing  an  angry  sneer;  "if  you  wish,  my  aunt  De 
Morteyn  will  charge  herself  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Nesville's  safety." 

"  True,  Lorraine  might  go  to  Morteyn,"  murmured 
the  marquis,  absently,  examining  a  smoky  retort  half 
filled  with  a  silvery  heap  of  dust. 

"  Then,  may  I  drive  her  over  after  dinner  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  indifferently. 


FROM  THE  FRONTIER  129 

Jack  started  towards  the  stairs,  hesitated,  and  turn 
ed  around. 

"  Your  inventions  are  not  safe,  of  course,  if  the  Ger 
man  army  comes.  Do  you  need  my  help  ?" 

"  My  inventions  are  my  own  affair,"  said  the  mar 
quis,  angrily. 

Jack  flushed  scarlet,  swung  on  his  heels,  and  marched 
out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs.  On  the  lower 
steps  he  met  Lorraine's  maid,  and  told  her  briefly  to 
pack  her  mistress's  trunks  for  a  visit  to  Morteyn, 

Lorraine  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  window  where 
he  had  left  her,  a  scared,  uncertain  little  maid  in  truth. 

f '  The  battle  is  very  near,  isn't  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  miles  away  yet." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  papa  ?  Did  he  send  word  to 
me  ?  Does  he  want  me  ?" 

He  found  it  hard  to  tell  her  what  message  her 
father  had  sent,  but  he  did. 

' ( I  am  to  go  to  Morteyn  ?  Oh,  I  cannot !  I  cannot ! 
Papa  will  be  alone  here  !"  she  said,  aghast. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  see  him,"  he  said,  almost 
bitterly. 

She  hurried  away  up  the  stairs ;  he  heard  her  little 
eager  feet  on  the  stone  steps  that  led  to  the  turret ; 
climbing  up,  up,  up,  until  the  sound  was  lost  in  the 
upper  stories  of  the  house.  He  went  out  to  the 
stables  and  ordered  the  dog-cart  and  a  wagon  for  her 
trunks.  He  did  not  fear  that  this  order  might  be 
premature,  for  he  thought  he  had  not  misjudged  the 
Marquis  de  Nesville.  And  he  had  not,  for,  before  the 
cart  was  ready,  Lorraine,  silent,  pale,  tearless,  came 
noiselessly  down  the  stairs  holding  her  little  cloak 
over  one  arm. 

9 


130  LORRAINE ! 

"I  ain  to  stay  a  week/' she  said;  "he  does  not 
want  me."  She  added,  hastily,  "He  is  so  busy  and 
worried,  and  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  if  the 
Prussians  should  come  he  must  hide  the  balloon  and 
the  box  of  plans  and  formula — " 

"'I  know,"  said  Jack,  tenderly ;  "  it  will  lift  a  weight 
from  his  mind  when  he  knows  you  are  safe  with  my 
aunt." 

"He  is  so  good,  he  thinks  only  of  my  safety," 
faltered  Lorraine. 

"  Come,"  said  Jack,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  husky  ; 
"  the  horse  is  waiting ;  I  am  to  drive  you.  Your 
maid  will  follow  with  the  trunks  this  evening.  Are 
you  ready?  Give  me  your  cloak.  There  —  now, are 
you  ready  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  aided  her  to  mount  the  dog -cart — her  light 
touch  was  on  his  arm.  He  turned  to  the  groom  at 
the  horse's  head,  sprang  to  the  seat,  and  nodded. 
Lorraine  leaned  back  and  looked  up  at  the  turret 
where  her  father  was. 

"  Allons  !  En  route  !"  cried  Jack,  cheerily,  snapping 
his  ribbon-decked  whip. 

At  the  same  instant  a  horseless  cavalryman,  gray 
with  dust  and  dripping  with  blood  and  sweat,  staggered 
out  on  the  road  from  among  the  trees.  He  turned  a 
deathly  face  to  theirs,  stopped,  tottered,  and  called 
out— "Jack!" 

"  Georges  !"  cried  Jack,  amazed. 

"  Give  me  a  horse,  for  God's  sake !"  he  gasped. 
"Fve  just  killed  mine.  I  —  I  must  get  to  Metz  by 
midnight — " 


xni 

AIDE-DE-CAMP 

LORRAINE  and  Jack  sprang  to  the  road  from  oppo 
site  sides  of  the  vehicle  :„  Georges"  drawn  face  was 
stretched  into  an  attemjp^t  a  smile  which  was  ghast 
ly,  for  the  stiff,  black  blor'd  that  had  caked  in  a  drip 
ping  ridge  from  his  forehead  to  his  chin  cracked  and 
grew  moist  and  scarlet,  and  his  hollow  cheeks  whit 
ened  under  the  coat  of  dust.  But  he  drew  himself 
up  by  an  effort  and  saluted  Lorraine  with  a  punctili 
ous  deference  that  still  had  a  touch  of  jauntiness  to 
it — the  jauntiness  of  a  youthful  cavalry  officer  in  the 
presence  of  a  pretty  woman. 

Old  Pilfcre,  who  had  witnessed  the  episode  from 
the  butler's  window,  came  limping  down  the  path, 
holding  a  glass  and  a  carafe  of  brandy. 

"You  are  right,  Pierre/''  said  Jack.  "Georges, 
drink  it  up,  old  fellow.  There,  now  you  can  stand 
on  those  pins  of  yours.  What's  that— a  sabre  cut  ?" 

"  No,  a  scratch  from  an  Uhlan's  lance-tip.  Cut  like 
a  razor,  didn't  it  ?  I've  just  killed  my  horse,  trying 
to  get  over  a  ditch.  Can  you  give  me  a  mount, 
Jack  ?" 

( '  There  isn't  a  horse  in  the  stable  that  can  carry 
you  to  Metz,"  said  Lorraine,  quietly;  " Diable  is  lame 
and  Porthos  is  not  shod.  I  can  give  you  my  pony." 


132  LORRAINE  ! 

"Can't  yon  get  a  train  ?"  asked  Jack,  astonished. 

"No,  the  Uhlans  are  in  our  rear,  everywhere. 
The  railroad  is  torn  np,  the  viaducts  smashed,  the 
wires  cut,  and  general  deuce  to  pay.  I  ran  into  an 
Uhlan  or  two — you  notice  it  perhaps,"  he  added,  with 
a  grim  smile.  "  Could  you  drive  me  to  Morteyn  ? 
Do  you  think  the  vicomte  would  lend  me  a  horse  ?" 

"Of  course  he  would,"  said  Jack;  "come,  then — 
there  is  room  for  three,"  with  an  anxious  glance  at 
Lorraine. 

"  Indeed,  there  is  always  room  for  a  soldier  of 
France !"  cried  Lorraine.  At  the  same  moment  she 
instinctively  laid  one  hand  lightly  on  Jack's  arm. 
Their  eyes  spoke  for  an  instant — the  generous  ap 
peal  that  shone  in  hers  was  met  and  answered  by  a 
response  that  brought  the  delicate  colour  into  her 
cheeks. 

"Let  me  hang  on  behind,"  pleaded  Georges — "I'm 
so  dirty,  you  know."  But  they  bundled  him  into  the 
seat  between  them,  and  Jack  touched  his  beribboned 
whip  to  the  horse's  ears,  and  away  they  went  speed 
ing  over  the  soft  forest  road  in  the  cool  of  the  fading 
day  ;  old  Pierre,  bottle  and  glass  in  hand,  gaping  after 
them  and  shaking  his  gray  head. 

Jack  began  to  fire  volleys  of  questions  at  the  young 
hussar  as  soon  as  they  entered  the  forest,  and  poor 
Georges  replied  as  best  he  could. 

"I  don't  know  very  much  about  it;  I  was  de 
tached  yesterday  and  taken  on  General  Douay's  staff. 
We  were  at  Wissembourg — you  know  that  little  town 
on  the  Lauter  where  the  vineyards  cover  everything 
and  the  mountains  are  pretty  steep  to  the  north  and 
west.  All  I  know  is  this :  about  six  o'clock  this 


AIDE-DE-CAMP  133 

morning  onr  outposts  on  the  hills  to  the  south  began 
banging  way  in  a  great  panic.  They  had  been  at 
tacked,  it  seems,  by  the  4th  Bavarian  Division,  Count 
Bothmer's,  I  believe.  Our  posts  fell  back  to  the  town, 
where  the  1st  Turcos  reinforced  them  at  the  railroad 
station.  The  artillery  were  at  it  on  our  left,  too,  and 
there  was  a  most  infernal  racket.  The  next  thing  I 
saw  was  those  crazy  Bavarians,  with  their  little  flat 
drums  beating,  and  their  fur-crested  helmets  all  bob 
bing,  marching  calmly  up  the  Geisberg.  Jack,  those 
fellows  went  through  the  vineyards  like  fiends  astride 
a  tempest.  That  was  at  two  o'clock.  The  Prussian 
Crown-Prince  rode  into  the  town  an  hour  before  ;  we 
couldn't  hold  it  —  Heaven  knows  why.  That's  all 
I  saw — except  the  death  of  our  general." 

f(  General  Douay  ?"  cried  Lorraine,  horrified. 

"  Yes,  he  was  killed  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  The  town  was  stormed  through  the  Hagenauer 
Thor  by  the  Bavarians.  After  that  we  still  held  the 
Geisberg  and  the  Chateau.  You  should  have  seen  it 
when  we  left  it.  I'll  say  it  was  a  butcher's  shambles. 
I'd  say  more  if  Mademoiselle  de  Nesville  were  not 
here."  He  was  trying  hard  to  bear  up — to  speak  light 
ly  of  the  frightful  calamity  that  had  overwhelmed 
General  Abel  Douay  and  his  entire  division. 

"  The  fight  at  the  Chateau  was  worth  seeing,"  said 
Georges,  airily.  "  They  went  at  it  with  drums  beat 
ing  and  flags  flying.  Oh,  but  they  fell  like  leaves  in 
the  gardens,  there — the  paths  and  shrubbery  were  lit 
tered  with  them,  dead,  dying,  gasping,  crawling  about, 
like  singed  flies  under  a  lamp.  We  had  them  beaten, 
too,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  their  General  von  Kirch-  ^ 

bach.     He  stood  in  the  garden — he'd  been  hit,  too — 
10  1 


134  LORRAINE  I 

and  bawled  for  the  artillery.  Then  they  came  at  us 
again  in  three  divisions.  Where  they  got  all  their 
regiments,  I  don't  know,  but  their  7th  Grenadier 
Guards  were  there,  and  their  47th,  58th,  59th,  80th, 
and  87th  regiments  of  the  line,  not  counting  a  Jager 
battalion  and  no  end  of  artillery.  They  carried  the 
Three  Poplars — a  hill — and  they  began  devastating 
everything.  We  couldn't  face  their  fire — I  don't  know 
why,  Jack ;  it  breaks  my  heart  when  I  say  it,  but  we 
couldn't  hold  them.  Then  they  began  howling  for 
cannon,  and,  of  course,  that  settled  the  Chateau.  The 
town  was  in  flames  when  I  left." 

After  a  silence,  Jack  asked  him  whether  it  was  a 
rout  or  a  retreat. 

"  We're  falling  back  in  very  decent  order,"  said 
Georges,  eagerly — "really,  we  are.  Of  course,  there 
were  some  troops  that  got  into  a  sort  of  panic — the 
Uhlans  are  annoying  us  considerably.  The  Turcos 
fought  well.  We  fairly  riddled  the  58th  Prussians — 
their  king's  regiment,  you  know.  It  was  the  3d  Ba 
varian  Corps  that  did  for  us.  We  will  meet  them 
later." 

"  Where  are  you  going — to  Metz  ?"  inquired  Jack, 
soberly. 

f '  Yes ;  I've  a  packet  for  Bazaine — I  don't  know 
what.  They're  trying  to  reach  him  by  wire,  but  those 
confounded  Uhlans  are  destroying  everything.  My 
dear  fellow,  you  need  not  worry ;  we  have  been  checked, 
that's  all.  Our  promenade  to  Berlin  is  postponed  in 
deference  to  King  Wilhelm's  earnest  wishes." 

They  all  tried  to  laugh  a  little,  and  Jack  chirped 
to  his  horse,  but  even  that  sober  animal  seemed  to 
feel  the  depression,  for  he  responded  in  fits  and  starts 


AIDE-DE-CAMP  186 

and  jerks  that  were  unpleasant  and  jarring  to  Georges' 
aching  head. 

The  sky  had  become  covered  with  bands  of  wet- 
looking  clouds,  the  leaves  of  the  forest  stirred  noise 
lessly  on  their  stems.  Along  the  river  willows  quiv 
ered  and  aspens  turned  their  leaves  white  side  to 
the  sky.  In  the  querulous  notes  of  the  birds  there 
was  a  prophecy  of  storms,  the  river  muttered  among 
its  hollows  of  floods  and  tempests. 

Suddenly  a  great  sombre  raven  sailed  to  the  road, 
alighted,  sidled  back,  and  sat  fearlessly  watching  them. 

Lorraine  shivered  and  nestled  closer  to  Jack. 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured,  "I  never  saw  one  before — 
except  in  pictures." 

"  They  belong  in  the  snow— they  have  no  business 
}iere,"  said  Jack ;  "  they  always  make  me  think  of 
those  pictures  of  Russia — the  retreat  of  the  Grand 
Army,  you  know." 

"  Wolves  and  ravens,"  said  Lorraine,  in  a  low  voice  ; 
"  I  know  why  they  come  to  us  here  in  France — Mon 
sieur  Marche,  did  I  not  tell  you  that  day  in  the  car- 
refour  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "do  you  really  think  you 
are  a  prophetess  ?" 

"  Did  you  see  wolves  here  ?"  asked  Georges. 

"  Yes  ;  before  war  was  declared.  I  told  Monsieur 
Marche — it  is  a  legend  of  our  country.  He,  of  course, 
laughed  at  it.  I  also  do  not  believe  everything  I  am 
told—but — I  don't  know — I  have  always  believed  that, 
ever  since  I  was,  oh,  very,  very  small  —  like  that." 
She  held  one  small  gloved  hand  about  twelve  inches 
from  the  floor  of  the  cart. 

"At  such  a  height  and  such  an  age  it  is  natural 


186  LORRAINE  ! 

to  believe  anything/'  said  Jack.  "I,  too,  accepted 
many  strange  doctrines  then." 

t(  You  are  laughing  again/'  said  Lorraine. 

So  they  passed  through  the  forest,  trying  to  be 
cheerful,  even  succeeding  at  times.  But  Georges' 
face  grew  paler  every  minute,  and  his  smile  was  so 
painful  that  Lorraine  could  not  bear  it  and  turned 
her  head  away,  her  hand  tightening  on  the  box-rail 
alongside. 

As  they  were  about  to  turn  out  into  the  Morteyn 
road,  where  the  forest  ended,  Jack  suddenly  checked 
the  horse  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Lorraine.     "  Oh,  I  see  !   Oh, 

look  r 

The  Morteyn  road  was  filled  with  infantry,  solid, 
plodding  columns,  pressing  fast  towards  the  west. 
The  fields,  too,  were  black  with  men,  engineers, 
weighted  down  with  their  heavy  equipments,  rest 
ing  in  long  double  rows,  eyes  vacant,  heads  bent. 
Above  the  thickets  of  rifles  sweeping  past,  mounted 
officers  sat  in  their  saddles,  as  though  carried  along 
on  the  surface  of  the  serried  tide.  Standards  fringed 
with  gold  slanted  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  sabres 
glimmered,  curving  upward  from  the  thronged  rifles, 
and  over  all  sounded  the  shuffle,  shuffle  of  worn  shoes 
in  the  dust,  a  mournful,  monotonous  cadence,  a  hope 
less  measure,  whose  burden  was  despair,  whose  beat 
was  the  rhythm  of  breaking  hearts. 

Oh,  but  it  cut  Lorraine  to  see  their  boyish  faces, 
dusty,  gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  turn  to  her  and  turn  away 
without  a  change,  without  a  shade  of  expression. 
The  mask  of  blank  apathy  stamped  on  every  visage 
almost  terrified  her.  On  they  came,  on,  on,  and  still 


AIDE-DE-CAMP  137 

on,  under  a  forest  of  shining  rifles.  A  convoy  of  mu 
nitions  crowded  in  the  rear  of  the  column,  surrounded 
by  troopers  of  the  train-des-equipages ;  then  followed 
more  infantry,  then  cavalry,  dragoons,  who  sat  list 
lessly  in  their  high  saddles,  carbines  bobbing  on  their 
broad  backs,  whalebone  plumes  matted  with  dust. 

Georges  rose  painfully  from  his  seat,  stepped  to  the 
side,  and  climbed  down  into  the  road.  He  felt  in  the 
breast  of  his  dolman  for  the  packet,  adjusted  his  sabre, 
and  turned  to  Lorraine. 

"  There  is  a  squadron  of  the  Kemount  Cavalry 
over  in  that  meadow — I  can  get  a  horse  there/'  he 
said.  "Thank  you,  Jack.  Good -by,  Mademoiselle 
de  Nesville,  you  have  been  more  than  generous." 

"  You  can  have  a  horse  from  the  Morteyn  stables," 
said  Jack ;  "my  dear  fellow,  I  can't  bear  to  see  you 
go — to  think  of  your  riding  to  Metz  to-night." 

"It's  got  to  be  done,  you  know,"  said  Georges. 
He  bowed;  Lorraine  stretched  out  her  hand  and  he 
gravely  touched  it  with  his  fingers.  Then  he  ex 
changed  a  nervous  gripe  with  Jack,  and  turned  away 
hurriedly,  crowding  between  the  passing  dragoons, 
traversing  the  meadows  until  they  lost  him  in  the 
throng. 

-"We  cannot  get  to  the  house  by  the  road,"  said 
Jack  ;  "we  must  take  the  stable  path;"  and  he  lifted 
the  reins  and  turned  the  horse's  head. 

The  stable  road  was  narrow,  and  crossed  with  sprays 
of  tender  leaves.  The  leaves  touched  Lorraine's  eyes, 
they  rubbed  across  her  fair  brow,  robbing  her  of  sin 
gle  threads  of  glittering  hair,  they  brushed  a  single 
bright  tear  from  her  cheeks  and  held  it,  glimmering 
like  a  drop  of  dew. 


138  LORRAINE ! 

"  Behold  the  end  of  the  world/'  said  Lorraine — "  I 
am  weeping/' 

He  turned  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  Is  that  strange  ?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  often  wished  to  cry.  I  never  could-— 
except  once  before — and  that  was  four  days  ago." 

The  day  of  their  quarrel !  He  thrilled  from  head  to 
foot,  but  dared  not  speak. 

"  Four  days  ago,"  said  Lorraine  again.  She  thought 
of  herself  gliding  from  her  bed  to  seek  the  stable 
where  Jack's  horse  stood,  she  thought  of  her  hot  face 
pressed  to  the  wounded  creature's  neck.  Then,  sud 
denly  aware  of  what  she  had  confessed,  she  leaned 
back  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Lorraine  I"  he  whispered,  brokenly. 

But  they  were  already  at  the  Chateau. 

"  Lorraine,  my  child  I"  cried  Madame  de  Morteyn, 
leaning  from  the  terrace.  Her  voice  was  drowned  in 
the  crash  of  drums  rolling,  rolling,  from  the  lawn 
below,  and  the  trumpets  broke  out  in  harsh  chorus, 
shrill,  discordant,  terrible. 

The  Emperor  had  arrived  at  Morteyn. 


XIV 

THE   MARQUIS   MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE 

THE  Emperor  dined  with  the  Vicomte  and  Madame 
de  Morteyn  that  evening  in  the  great  dining-room. 
The  Chateau,  patrolled  by  doubled  guards  of  the  Cent 
Gardes,  was  surrounded  by  triple  hedges  of  bayonets 
and  a  perfect  pest  of  police  spies,  secret  agents,  and 
flunkys.  In  the  breakfast  -  room  General  Frossard 
and  his  staff  were  also  dining ;  and  up-stairs,  in  a  small 
gilded  salon,  Jack  and  Lorraine  ate  soberly,  tenderly 
cared  for  by  the  old  house-keeper. 

Outside  they  could  hear  the  steady  tramp  of  pass 
ing  infantry  along  the  dark  road,  the  clank  of  ar 
tillery,  and  the  muffled  trample  of  cavalry.  Fros- 
sard's  Corps  was  moving  rapidly,  its  back  to  the 
Ehine. 

"I  saw  the  Prince  Imperial,"  said  Jack;  "he  was 
in  the  conservatory,  writing  to  his  mother,  the  Em 
press.  Have  you  ever  seen  him,  Mademoiselle  de  Nes- 
ville  ?  He  is  young,  really  a  mere  child,  but  he  looks 
very  manly  in  his  uniform.  He  has  that  same  charm, 
that  same  delicate,  winning  courtesy  that  the  Em 
peror  is  famous  for.  But  he  looks  so  pale  and  tired 
— like  a  school-boy  in  the  Lycee." 

"It  would  have  been  unfortunate  if  the  Emperor 
had  stopped  at  the  Chateau  de  Nesville,"  said  Lor- 


140  LORSAIHE  ! 

raine,  sipping  her  small  glass  of  Moselle ;  f '  papa  hatig 
him." 

"  Many  Eoyalists  do/' 

"  It  is  not  that  only ;  there  is  something  else — 
something  that  I  don't  know  about.  It  concerns  my 
brother  who  died  many  years  ago,  before  I  was  born. 
Have  I  never  spoken  of  my  brother  ?  Has  papa  never 
said  anything  ?" 

"  No/'  said  Jack,  gently. 

"  Well,  when  my  brother  was  alive,  onr  family  lived 
in  Paris.  That  is  all  I  know,  except  that  my  brother 
died  shortly  before  the  empire  was  proclaimed,  and 
papa  and  mamma  came  to  our  country  -  place  here, 
where  I  was  born.  Kent's — my  brother's — death  had 
something  to  do  with  my  father's  hatred  of  the  em 
pire,  I  know  that.  But  papa  will  never  speak  of  it  to 
me,  except  to  tell  me  that  I  must  always  remember 
that  the  Emperor  has  been  the  curse  of  the  De  Nes- 
villes.  Hark  !  Hear  the  troops  passing.  Why  do 
they  never  cheer  their  Emperor  ?" 

"They  cheered  him  at  Saarbriick — I  heard  them. 
You  are  not  eating ;  are  you  tired  ?" 

"A  little.  I  shall  go  with  Marianne,  I  think  ; 
I  am  sleepy.  Are  you  going  to  sit  up  ?  Do  you 
think  we  can  sleep  with  the  noise  of  the  horses 
passing  ?  I  should  like  to  see  the  Emperor  at 
table." 

"Wait,"  said  Jack;  "I'll  go  down  and  find  out 
whether  we  can't  slip  into  the  ballroom." 

"  Then  I'll  go  too,"  said  Lorraine,  rising.  "  Mari 
anne,  stay  here ;  I  will  return  in  a  moment ;"  and  she 
slipped  after  Jack,  down  the  broad  staircase  and  out 
to  the  terrace,  where  a  huge  cuirassier  officer  stood 


THE   MABQUI3  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE  141 

in  the  moonlight,  his  straight  sabre  shimmering,  his 
white  mantle  open  over  the  silver  breastplate. 

The  ballroom  was  brilliantly  lighted,  the  gilded  ca 
napes  and  chairs  were  covered  with  officers  in  every 
conceivable  uniform,  lounging,  sprawling,  chatting, 
and  gesticulating,  or  pulling  papers  and  maps  over  the 
floor.  A  general  traced  routes  across  the  map  at  his 
feet  with  the  point  of  a  naked  sword ;  an  officer  of  dra 
goons,  squatting  on  his  haunches,  followed  the  move 
ment  of  the  sword -point  and  chewed  an  unlighted 
cigarette.  Officers  were  coming  and  going  constantly, 
entering  by  the  hallway  and  leaving  through  the  door- 
like  windows  that  swung  open  to  the  floor.  The  sin 
ister  face  of  a  police-spy  peered  into  the  conservatory 
at  intervals,  where  a  slender,  pale-faced  boy  sat,  clothed 
in  a  colonel's  uniform,  writing  on  a  carved  table.  It 
was  the  Prince  Imperial,  back  from  Saarbriick  and  his 
"baptism  of  fire,"  back  also  from  the  Spicheren  and 
the  disaster  of  Worth.  He  was  writing  to  his  mother, 
that  unhappy,  anxious  woman  who  looked  every  day 
from  the  Tuileries  into  the  streets  of  a  city  already 
clamorous,  already  sullenly  suspicious  of  its  Emperor 
and  Empress. 

The  boy's  face  was  beautiful.  He  raised  his  head 
and  sat  silently  biting  his  pen,  eyes  wandering.  Per 
haps  he  was  listening  to  the  retreat  of  Erossard's 
Corps  through  the  fair  province  of  Lorraine — a  prov 
ince  that  he  should  never  live  to  see  again.  A  few 
months  more,  a  few  battles,  a  few  villages  in  flames, 
a  few  cities  ravaged,  a  few  thousand  corpses  piled 
from  the  frontier  to  the  Loire  —  and  then,  what  ? 
Why,  an  emperor  the  less  and  an  emperor  the  more, 
and  a  new  name  for  a  province — that  is  all. 


142  LORRAINE  ! 

His  delicate,  high-bred  face  fell ;  he  shaded  his  sad 
eyes  with  one  thin  hand  and  wrote  again — all  that  a 
good  son  writes  to  a  mother,  all  that  a  good  soldier 
writes  to  a  sovereign,  all  that  a  good  prince  writes 
to  an  empress. 

"  Oh,  what  sad  eyes  !"  whispered  Lorraine  ;  "  he  is 
too  young  to  see  such  things." 

"  He  may  see  worse,"  said  Jack.  "  Come,  shall  we 
walk  around  the  lawn  to  the  dining-room  ?" 

They  descended  the  dark  steps,  her  arm  resting 
lightly  on  his,  and  he  guided  her  through  a  throng 
of  gossiping  cavalrymen  and  hurrying  but  polite  offi 
cers  towards  the  western  wing  of  the  Chateau,  the 
trample  of  the  passing  army  always  in  their  ears. 

As  he  was  about  to  cross  the  drive,  a  figure  stepped 
from  the  shadow  of  the  porte-cochere  —  a  man  in  a 
rough  tweed  suit,  who  lifted  his  wide-awake  politely 
and  asked  Jack  if  he  was  not  English. 

"American,"  said  Jack,  guardedly. 

The  man  was  apparently  much  relieved.  He  made 
a  frank,  manly  apology  for  his  intrusion,  looked  ap- 
pealingly  at  Lorraine,  and  said,  with  a  laugh :  "  The 
fact  is,  Fm  astray  in  the  wrong  camp.  I  rode  out 
from  the  Spicheren  and  got  mixed  in  the  roads,  and 
first  I  knew  I  fell  in  with  Frossard's  Corps,  and  I 
can't  get  away.  I  thought  you  were  an  Englishman  ; 
you're  American,  it  seems,  and  really  I  may  venture 
to  feel  that  there  is  hope  for  me — may  I  not  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Jack ;  "  whatever  I  can  do,  Fll 
do  gladly." 

"  Then  let  me  observe  without  hesitation,"  con 
tinued  the  man,  smiling  under  his  crisp  mustache, 
"  that  I'm  in  search  of  a  modest  dinner  and  a  shelter 


THE  MARQUIS  MAKES  SIMSELF  AGREEABLE  143 

of  even  more  modest  dimensions.  Pm  a  war  corre 
spondent,,  unattached  just  at  present,  but  following 
the  German  army.  My  name  is  Archibald  Grahame." 

At  the  name  of  the  great  war  correspondent  Jack 
stared,,  then  impulsively  held  out  his  hand. 

"Aha  I"  said  Grahame,  "you  must  be  a  correspond 
ent,  too.  Ha  !  I  thought  I  was  not  wrong." 

He  bowed  again  to  Lorraine,  who  returned  his  man 
ly  salute  very  sweetly.  "If,"  she  thought,  "Jack  is 
inclined  to  be  nice  to  this  sturdy  young  man  in 
tweeds,  I  also  will  be  as  nice  as  I  can." 

"  My  name  is  Marche — Jack  Marche,"  said  Jack,  in 
some  trepidation.  "I  am  not  a  correspondent — that 
is,  not  an  active  one." 

"  You  were  at  Sadowa,  and  you've  been  in  Oran 
with  Ohanzy,"  said  Grahame,  quickly. 

Jack  flushed  with  pleasure  to  find  that  the  great 
Archibald  Grahame  had  heard  of  him. 

"  "We  must  take  Mr.  Grahame  up-stairs  at  once — 
must  we  not  ? — if  he  is  hungry,"  suggested  Lorraine, 
whose  tender  heart  was  touched  at  the  thought  of  a 
hungry  human  being. 

They  all  laughed,  and  Grahame  thanked  her  with 
that  whimsical  but  charming  courtesy  that  endeared 
him  to  all  who  knew  him. 

"  It  is  awkward,  now,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Marche  ?  Here 
I  am  in  France  with  the  army  I  tried  to  keep  away 
from,  roofless,  supperless,  and  rather  expecting  some 
of  these  sentinels  or  police  agents  may  begin  to  in 
quire  into  my  affairs.  If  they  do  they'll  take  me  for  a 
spy.  I  was  threatened  by  the  villagers  in  a  little  ham 
let  west  of  Saint- Avoid — and  how  I'm  going  to  get  back 
to  my  Hohenzollerns  I  haven't  the  faintest  notion." 


144  LORRAINE  ! 

"  There'll  surely  be  some  way.  My  uncle  will  vouch 
for  you  and  get  you  a  safe-conduct,"  said  Jack.  "  Per 
haps,  Mr.  Grahame,  you  had  better  come  and  dine  in 
our  salon  up-stairs.  Will  you  ?  The  Emperor  occu 
pies  the  large  dining-room,  and  General  Frossard  and 
his  staff  have  the  breakfast-room." 

Amused  by  the  young  fellow's  doubt  that  a  simple 
salon  on  the  first  floor  might  not  be  commensurate 
with  the  hospitality  of  Morteyn,  Archibald  Grahame 
stepped  pleasantly  to  the  other  side  of  the  road ;  and 
so,  with  Lorraine  between  them,  they  climbed  the 
terrace  and  scaled  the  stairs  to  the  little  gilt  salon 
where  Lorraine's  maid  Marianne  and  the  old  house 
keeper  sat  awaiting  her  return. 

Lorraine  was  very  wide-awake  now—she  was  ex 
cited  by  the  stir  and  the  brilliant  uniforms.  She  un 
consciously  took  command,  too,  feeling  that  she  should 
act  the  hostess  in  the  absence  of  Madame  de  Mor 
teyn.  The  old  house -keeper,  who  adored  her,  sup 
ported  her  loyally ;  so,  between  Marianne  and  herself, 
a  very  delightful  dinner  was  served  to  the  hungry  but 
patient  Grahame  when  he  returned  with  Jack  from 
the  latter's  chamber,  where  he  had  left  most  of  the 
dust  and  travel  stains  of  a  long  tramp  across  coun- 

try. 

And  how  the  great  war  correspondent  did  eat  and 
drink  !  It  made  Jack  hungry  again  to  watch  him,  so 
with  a  laughing  apology  to  Lorraine  he  joined  in  with 
a  will,  enthusiastically  applauded  and  encouraged  by 
Grahame. 

"I  could  tell  you  were  a  correspondent  by  you* 
appetite,"  said  Grahame.  "  Dear  me  !  it  takes  a  cam 
paign  to  make  life  worth  living  I" 


THB  MABQUIS  MAKES  HIMiELF  AGREEABLE  146 

"Life  is  not  worth  living,  then,  without  an  appe 
tite  ?"  inquired  Lorraine,  mischievously. 

"No,"  said  Grahame,  seriously;  "and  you  also 
will  be  of  that  opinion  some  day,  mademoiselle." 

His  kindly,  humourous  eyes  turned  inquiringly  from 
Jack  to  Lorraine  and  from  Lorraine  to  Jack.  He 
was  puzzled,  perhaps,  but  did  not  betray  it. 

They  were  not  married,  because  Lorraine  was  Made 
moiselle  de  Nesville  and  Jack  was  Monsieur  Marche. 
Cousins  ?  Probably.  Engaged  ?  Probably.  So  Gra 
hame  smiled  benignly  and  emptied  another  bottle  of 
Moselle  with  a  frank  abandon  that  fascinated  the  old 
house-keeper. 

"  And  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to 
put  me  up  for  the  night,  too  ?"  he  asked  Jack.  "You 
place  me  under  eternal  obligation,  and  I  accept  with 
that  understanding.  If  you  run  into  my  Hohenzol- 
lerns,  they'll  receive  you  as  a  brother/' 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  visit  the  Hohenzollern  Regi 
ment,"  observed  Lorraine,  demurely. 

"No — er — the  fact  is,  I'm  not  doing  much  news 
paper  work  now,"  said  Jack. 

Grahame  was  puzzled  but  bland. 

"  Tell  us,  Monsieur  Grahame,  of  what  yon  saw  in 
the  Spicheren,"  said  Lorraine.  "Is  it  a  very  bad  de 
feat  ?  I  am  sure  it  cannot  be.  Of  course,  France 
will  win,  sooner  or  later ;  nobody  doubts  that." 

Before  Grahame  could  manufacture  a  suitable  re 
ply — and  his  wit  was  as  quick  as  his  courtesy — a  door 
opened  and  Madame  de  Morteyn  entered,  sad -eyed 
but  smiling. 

Jack  jumped  up  and  asked  leave  to  present  Mr. 
Grahame,,  and  the  old  lady  received  him  very  sweetly, 
10 


146  LORRAINE  t 


that  he  should  make  the  Chateau  his  home 
as  long  as  he'  stayed  in  the  vicinity. 

A  few  moments  later  she  went  away  with  Lorraine 
and  her  maid,  and  Jack  and  Archibald  Grahame  were 
left  together  to  sip  their  Moselle  and  smoke  some  very 
excellent  cigars  that  Jack  found  in  the  library. 

"Mr.  Grahame,"  said  Jack,  diffidently,  "if  it  would 
not  be  an  impertinent  question,  who  is  going  to  run 
away  in  this  campaign  ?" 

Grahame's  face  fell  ;  his  sombre  glance  swept  the 
beautiful  room  and  rested  on  a  picture  —  the  "  Battle 
of  Waterloo." 

"It  will  be  worse  than  that,"  he  said,  abruptly. 
te  May  I  take  one  of  these  cigars  ?  Oh,  thank  you." 

Jack's  heart  sank,  but  he  smiled  and  passed  a 
lighted  cigar-lamp  to  the  other. 

"My  judgment  has  been  otherwise,"  he  said,  "and 
what  you  say  troubles  me." 

"  It  troubles  me,  too,"  said  Grahame,  looking  out  of 
the  dark  window  at  the  watery  clouds,  ragged,  un 
canny,  whirling  one  by  one  like  tattered  witches  across 
the  disk  of  a  misshapen  moon. 

After  a  silence  Jack  relighted  his  half  -  burned 
cigar. 

'  '  Then  it  is  invasion  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes  —  invasion." 

"When?" 

"Now." 

66  Good  heavens  !  the  very  stones  in  the  fields  will 
rise  up  I" 

"If  the  people  did  so  too  it  might  be  to  better 
purpose,"  observed  Grahame,  dryly.  Then  he  ernp- 
tie4  his  glass^  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar* 


THE  MARQUIS   MAKES   HIMSELF   AGREEABLE  147 

sitting  erect  in  his  chair,  said,  "  See  here,  Marche, 
yon  and  I  are  accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing,  we've 
seen  campaigns  and  we  have  learned  to  judge  dispas 
sionately  and,  I  think,  fairly  accurately ;  but,  on  m^ 
3ionour,  I  never  before  have  seen  the  beginning  of 
such  a  tempest — never !  You  say  the  very  stones  will 
rise  up  in  the  fields  of  France.  You  are  right.  For 
the  fields  will  be  ploughed  with  solid  shot,  and  the 
shells  will  sow  the  earth  with  iron  from  the  Rhine  to 
the  Loire.  Good  Lord,  do  these  people  know  what  is 
coming  over  the  frontier  ?" 

"  Prussians,"  said  Jack. 

"Yes,  Prussians  and  a  few  others — "VVurtemberg- 
ers,  Saxons,  Bavarians,  men  from  Baden,  from  Hesse, 
from  the  Schwarzwald — from  Hamburg  to  the  Tyrol 
they  are  coming  in  three  armies.  I  saw  the  Spicheren, 
I  saw  AVissembourg — I  have  seen  and  I  know." 

Presently  he  opened  a  fresh  bottle,  and,  with  that 
whimsical  smile  and  frank  simplicity  that  won  whom 
he  chose  to  win,  leaned  towards  Jack  and  began  speak 
ing  as  though  the  younger  man  were  his  peer  in  ex 
perience  and  age : 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  saw  across  the  Rhine?  I 
saw  the  machinery  at  work — the  little  wheels  and 
cogs  turning  and  grinding  and  setting  in  motion  that 
stupendous  machine  that  Gneisenau  patented  and  Von 
Moltke  improved — the  great  Mobilization  Machine  ! 
How  this  machine  does  its  work  it  is  not  easy  to  real 
ize  unless  one  has  actually  watched  its  operation.  I 
saw  it — and  what  I  saw  left  me  divided  between  ad 
miration  and — well,  damn  it  all  ! — sadness. 

"You  know,  Marche,  that  there  are  three  strata  of 
fighting  men  in  Germany — the  regular  army,  the  '  re- 


148  LORRAINE ! 

serve/  and  the  Landwehr.  It  is  a  mistake  into  which 
many  fall  to  believe  that  the  reserve  is  the  rear  of 
the  regular  army.  The  war  strength  of  a  regiment  is 
just  double  its  peace  strength,  and  the  increment  is 
the  reserve.  The  blending  of  the  two  in  time  of  war 
is  complete  ;  the  medalled  men  of  1866  and  of  the 
Holstein  campaign,  called  up  from  the  reserve,  are 
welded  into  the  same  ranks  with  the  young  soldiers 
who  are  serving  their  first  period  of  three  years.  It 
is  an  utter  mistake  to  think  of  the  Prussian  army  or 
the  Prussian  reserves  as  a  militia  like  yours  or  ours. 
The  Prussian  reserve  man  has  three  years  active  ser 
vice  with  his  colours  to  point  back  to.  Have  ours  ? 
The  mobilization  machine  grinds  its  grinding  in  this 
wise.  The  whole  country  is  divided  into  districts,  in 
the  central  city  of  each  of  which  are  the  headquarters 
of  the  army  corps  recruited  from  that  district.  Thence 
is  sent  forth  the  edict  for  mobilization  to  the  towns, 
the  villages,  and  the  quiet  country  parishes.  From 
the  forge,  from  the  harvest,  from  the  store,  from  the 
school-room,  blacksmiths,  farmers,  clerks,  school-mas 
ters  drop  everything  at  an  hours  notice. 

"  The  contingent  of  a  village  is  sent  to  headquarters. 
On  the  route  it  meets  other  contingents  until  the  ren 
dezvous  is  reached.  And  then — the  transformation  ! 
A  yokel  enters— a  soldier  leaves.  The  slouch  has  gone 
from  his  shoulders,  his  chest  is  thrown  forward,  his 
legs  straightened,  his  chin  'well  off  the  stock/  his 
step  brisk,  his  carriage  military.  They  are  tough 
as  whip -cord,  sober,  docile,  and  terribly  in  ear 
nest.  They  are  orderly,  decent,  and  reputable.  They 
need  no  sentries,  and  none  are  placed  ;  they  never 
get  drunk,  they  are  not  riotous,  and  the  barrack 


THE  MABQTTIS  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE  149 

gates  are  never  infested  by  those  hordes  of  soldiers5 
women." 

He  paused  and  puffed  at  his  cigar  thoughtfully. 

1 '  They  are  auch  soldiers  as  the  world  has  not  yet 
seen.  Marching  ?  I  saw  them  striding  steadily  for 
ward  with  the  thermometer  at  eighty-five  in  the  shade, 
with  needle-gun,  heavy  knapsack,  eighty  rounds  of 
ammunition,  huge  great -coat,  camp -kettle,  sword, 
spade,  water-bottle,  haversack,  and  lots  of  odds  and 
ends  dangling  about  them,  with  perhaps  a  loaf  or  two 
under  one  arm.  Sunstroke  ?  No.  Why  ?  Sobriety. 
No  absinthe  there,  Mr.  Marche." 

"  We  beat  those  men  at  Saarbriick,"  said  Jack. 

Grahame  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"At  Saarbriick,  when  war  was  declared,  the  total 
German  garrison  consisted  of  a  battalion  of  infantry 
and  a  regiment  of  Uhlans.  Frossard  and  his  whole 
corps  were  looking  across  at  Saarbriick  over  the  ridges 
of  the  Spicheren,  and  nobody  had  the  means  of  know 
ing  what  everybody  knows  now,  the  reason,  so  dis 
creditable  to  French  organization,  which  prevented 
him  from  blowing  out  of  his  path  the  few  pickets  and 
patrols,  and  invading  the  territory  which  had  its  fron 
tier  only  nominally  guarded.  I  was  in  Saarbriick  at 
the  time,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  dodging  shells 
there,  too.  Why,  we  were  all  asking  each  other  if  it 
were  possible  that  the  Frenchmen  did  not  know  the 
weakness  of  the  land.  Our  Uhlans  and  infantry  were 
manipulated  dexterously  to  make  a  battalion  look  like 
a  brigade ;  but  we  had  an  army  corps  in  front  of  us. 
We  held  the  place  by  sheer  impudence/' 

"  I  know  it/'  said  Jack ;  "  it  makes  me  ill  to  think 
of  it." 

11 


150  LORRAINE ! 

"  It  ought  to  make  Frossard  ill !  Had  a  French 
army  of  invasion  pushed  on  through  Saint-Johann  on 
the  2d  of  August  and  marched  rapidly  into  the  in 
terior,  the  Germans  could  not  possibly  have  concen 
trated  their  scattered  regiments,  and  it  is  my  firm 
conviction  that  Napoleon  would  have  seen  the  Ehine 
without  having  had  to  fight  a  pitched  battle.  Well, 
Marche,  I  drink  to  neither  one  side  nor  the  other, 
but — here's  to  the  men  with  backbones.  Prosit  I" 

They  laughed  and  clinked  glasses.  Grahame  fin 
ished  his  bottle,  rose,  politely  stifled  a  yawn,  and 
looked  humourously  at  Jack. 

"  There  are  two  beds  in  my  room  ;  will  you  take 
one  ?"  said  the  young  fellow, 

"  Thank  you,  I  will,"  said  Grahame,  "  and  as  soon 
as  you  please,  my  dear  fellow." 

So  Jack  led  the  way  and  ushered  the  other  into  a 
huge  room  with  two  beds,  seemingly  lost  in  distant 
diagonal  corners.  Grahame  promptly  kicked  off  his 
boots,  and  sat  down  on  his  bed. 

"I  saw  a  funny  thing  in  Saarbriick,"  he  said.  "It 
was  right  in  the  midst  of  a  cannonade — the  shells 
were  smashing  the  chimneys  on  the  Hotel  Hagen 
and  raising  hell  generally.  And  right  in  the  midst 
of  the  whole  blessed  mess,  cool  as  a  cucumber,  came 
sauntering  a  real  live  British  swell  with  a  coat  adorned 
with  field-glasses  and  girdle  and  a  dozen  pockets,  an 
eye-glass,  a  dog  that  seemed  dearer  to  him  than  life, 
and  a  drawl  that  had  not  been  perceptibly  quickened 
by  the  French  cannon.  He-aw-had  been  going  east 
ward  somewhere  to -aw- Constantinople,  or  Saint-Pe 
tersburg,  or-aw-somewhere,  when  he-aw-heard  that  it 
might  be  amusing  at  Saarbriick.  A  shell  knocked  a 


THE  MARQUIS  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE  151 

cart-load  of  tiles  around  his  head,  and  he  looked  at  it 
through  his  eye-glass.  Marche,  I  never  laughed  so 
in  my  life.  He's  a  good  fellow,  though — he's  trot 
ting  about  with  the  Hohenzollern  Regiment  now,  and, 
really,  I  miss  him.  His  name  is  Hesketh — " 

"  Not  Sir  Thorald  ?"  cried  Jack. 

<(  Eh  ?— yes,  that's  the  man.     Know  him  ?" 

"  A  little,"  said  Jack,  laughing,  and  went  out,  bid 
ding  Graham  good-night,  and  promising  to  have  him 
roused  at  dawn. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  turn  in  ?"  called  Grahame, 
fearful  of  having  inconvenienced  Jack  in  his  own 
quarters. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  fellow.  ' '  I  won't  wake  you — 
I'll  be  back  in  an  hour."  And  he  closed  the  door,  and 
went  down-stairs. 

For  a  few  moments  he  stood  on  the  cool  terrace, 
listening  to  the  movement  of  the  host  below ;  and  al 
ways  the  tramp  of  feet,  the  snort  of  horses,  and  the 
metallic  jingle  of  passing  cannon  filled  his  ears. 

The  big  cuirassier  sentinel  had  been  joined  by  two 
more,  all  of  the  Hundred-Guards.  Jack  noticed  their 
carbines,  wondering  a  little  to  see  cuirassiers  so  armed, 
and  marvelling  at  the  long,  slender,  lance-like  bayo 
nets  that  were  attached  to  the  muzzles. 

Presently  he  went  into  the  house,  and,  entering  the 
smoking-room,  met  his  aunt  coming  out. 

"  Jack," she  said,  "I  am  a  little  nervous — the  Em 
peror  is  still  in  the  dining-room  with  a  crowd  of  offi 
cers,  and  he  has  just  sent  an  aide-de-camp  to  the 
Chateau  de  Nesville  to  summon  the  marquis.  It  will 
be  most  awkward ;  your  uncle  and  he  are  not  friendly, 
and  the  Marquis  de  Nesvilie  hates  the  Emperor," 


152 

"  Why  did  the  Emperor  send  for  him  ?"  asked  Jack, 
wondering. 

"  I  don't  know — he  wishes  for  a  private  interview 
with  the  marquis.  He  may  refuse  to  come — he  is  a 
very  strange  man,  you  know." 

"  Then,  if  he  is,  he  may  come ;  that  would  be 
stranger  still,"  said  Jack. 

"Your  uncle  is  not  well,  Jack,"  continued  Ma 
dame  de  Morteyn ;  "he  is  quite  upset  by  being 
obliged  to  entertain  the  Emperor.  You  know  how 
all  the  Eoyalists  feel.  But,  Jack,  dear,  if  you  could 
have  seen  your  uncle  it  would  have  been  a  lesson  in 
chivalry  to  you  which  any  young  man  could  ill  afford 
to  miss — he  was  so  perfectly  simple,  so  proudly  cour 
teous — ah,  Jack,  your  uncle  is  one  in  a  nation  I" 

"He  is — and  so  are  you  !"  said  Jack,  kissing  her 
faded  cheek.  "Are  you  going  to  retire  now  ?" 

' '  Yes ;  your  uncle  needs  me.  The  lights  are  out 
everywhere.  Lorraine,  dear  child,  is  asleep  in  the 
next  room  to  mine.  Is  Mr.  Grahame  comfortable  ? 
I  am  glad.  The  Prince  Imperial  is  sleeping  too,  poor 
child — sleeping  like  a  worn-out  baby." 

Jack  conducted  his  aunt  to  her  chamber,  and  bade 
her  good-night.  Then  he  went  softly  back  through 
the  darkened  house,  and  across  the  hall  to  the  dining- 
room.  The  door  was  open,  letting  out  a  flood  of  lamp 
light,  and  the  generals  and  staff-officers  were  taking 
leave  of  the  Emperor  and  filing  out  one  by  one,  Fros- 
sard  leading,  his  head  bent  on  his  breast.  Some  went 
away  to  rooms  assigned  them,  guided  by  a  flunky, 
some  passed  across  the  terrace  with  swords  trailing 
and  spurs  ringing,  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 
They  had  not  all  left  the  Emperor,  when,  suddenly, 


THS   MAK<JUIS  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGKEEABLE  153 

Jack  heard  behind  him  the  voice  of  the  Marquis  de 
Nesville,  cold,  sneering,  ironical. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  seeing  Jack  standing  by  the  door, 
"  can  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find  the  Emperor  of 
the  French  ?  I  am  sent  for."  Turning  on  the  aide- 
de  -  camp  at  his  side  :  "  This  gentleman  courteously 
notified  me  that  the  Emperor  desired  my  presence. 
I  am  here,  but  I  do  not  choose  to  go  alone,  and  I  shall 
demand,  Monsieur  Marche,  that  you  accompany  me 
and  remain  during  the  interview." 

The  aide-de-camp  looked  at  him  darkly,  but  the 
marquis  sneered  in  his  face. 

"  I  want  a  witness,"  he  said,  insolently  ;  "you  can 
tell  that  to  your  Emperor." 

The  aide-de-camp,  helmet  under  his  arm,  from  which 
streamed  a  horse-hair  plume,  entered  the  dining-room 
as  the  last  officer  left  it. 

Jack  looked  uneasily  at  the  marquis,  and  was  about 
to  speak  when  the  aid  returned  and  requested  the 
marquis  to  enter. 

"  Monsieur  Marche,  remain  here,  I  beg  you,"  said 
the  marquis,  coolly;  "I  shall  call  you  presently.  It 
is  a  service  I  ask  of  you.  Will  you  oblige  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack. 

The  door  opened  lor  a  second. 

Kapoleon  III.  sat  at  the  long  table,  his  head  droop 
ing  on  his  breast ;  he  was  picking  absently  at  threads 
in  the  texture  of  the  table-cloth.  That  was  all  Jack 
saw — a  glimpse  of  a  table  covered  with  half-empty 
glasses  and  fruit,  an  old  man  picking  at  the  cloth  in 
the  lamplight ;  then  the  door  shut,  and  he  was  alone 
in  the  dark  hall.  Out  on  the  terrace  he  heard  the 
tramp  of  the  cuirassier  sentinels,  and  beyond  that  the 


154  LORRAINE  ! 

uproar  of  artillery,  passing,  always  passing.  He  stared 
about  in  the  darkness,  he  peered  up  the  staircase  into 
the  gloom.  A  bat  was  flying  somewhere  near — he  felt 
the  wind  from  its  mousy  wings. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open  beside  him,  and 
the  marquis  called  to  him  in  a  voice  vibrating  with 
passion.  As  he  entered  and  bowed  low  to  the  Em 
peror,  he  saw  the  marquis,  tall,  white  with  anger,  his 
blue  eyes  glittering,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  He  paid  no  attention  to  Jack,  but  the  Emperor 
raised  his  impassible  face,  haggard  and  gray,  and  ac 
knowledged  the  young  man's  respectful  salutation. 

"  You  have  asked  me  a  question,"  said  the  marquis, 
harshly,  "  and  I  demanded  to  answer  it  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  witness.  Is  your  majesty  willing  that  this 
gentleman  shall  hear  my  reply  ?" 

The  Emperor  looked  at  him  with  half  -  closed,  in 
scrutable  eyes,  then,  turning  his  heavy  face  to  Jack's, 
smiled  wearily  and  inclined  his  head. 

"Good,"  said  the  marquis,  apparently  labouring  un 
der  tremendous  excitement.  "  You  ask  me  to  give 
you,  or  sell  you,  or  loan  you  my  secret  for  military 
balloons.  My  answer  is,  '  No  !' Ji 

The  Emperor's  face  did  not  change  as  he  said,  "  I 
ask  it  for  your  country,  not  for  myself,  monsieur." 

"  And  I  will  give  it  to  my  country,  not  to  you  V9 
said  the  marquis,  violently. 

Jack  looked  at  the  Emperor.  He  noticed  his  un 
kempt  hair  brushed  forward,  his  short  thumbs  pinch 
ing  the  table-cloth,  his  closed  eyes. 

The  Marquis  de  Nesville  took  a  step  towards  him. 

"Does  your  majesty  remember  the  night  that 
Morny  lay  dying  in  the  shadows  ?  And  that  horrible 


((  I 


THE  MARQUIS  MAKES  HIMSELF  AGREEABLE  155 

croak  from  the  darkness  when  he  raised  himself  on  one 
elbow  and  gasped,  ( Sire,  prenez  garde  a  la  Prusse !' 
Then  he  died.  That  was  all  —  a  warning,  a  groan, 
the  death-rattle  in  the  shadows  by  the  bed.  Then  he 
died." 

The  Emperor  never  moved. 

Look  ont  for  Prussia  !'  That  was  Moray's  last 
And  now  ?  Prussia  is  there,  you  are  here  ! 
And  you  need  aid,  and  you  send  for  me,  and  I  tell 
you  that  my  secrets  are  for  my  country,  not  for  you  ! 
No,  not  for  you — you  who  said,  '  It  is  easy  to  govern 
the  French,  they  only  need  a  war  every  four  years  !' 
Now — here  is  your  war  !  Govern  !" 

The  Emperor's  slow  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  the 
man  before  him.  But  the  man,  trembling,  pallid  with 
passion,  clenched  his  hands  and  hurled  an  insult  at 
the  Emperor  through  his  set  teeth:  "Napoleon  the 
Little !  Listen !  When  you  have  gone  down  in  the 
crash  of  a  rotten  throne  and  a  blood-bought  palace, 
then,  when  the  country  has  shaken  this — this  thing — 
from  her  bent  back,  then  I  will  give  to  my  country 
all  I  have  !  But  never  to  you,  to  save  your  name  and 
your  race  and  your  throne — never  !" 

He  fairly  frothed  at  the  lips  as  he  spoke ;  his  eyes 
blazed. 

"Your  coup-d'etat  made  me  childless!  I  had  a 
son,  fairer  than  yours,  who  lies  asleep  in  there — brave, 
gentle,  loving — a  son  of  mine,  a  De  Nesville  !  Your 
bribed  troops  killed  him — shot  him  to  death  on  the 
boulevards — him  among  the  others — so  that  you  could 
sit  safely  in  the  Tuileries  !  I  saw  them — those  piled 
corpses !  I  saw  little  children  stabbed  to  death  with 
bayonets,  I  saw  the  heaped  slain  lying  before  Tortoni's, 


156  LORRAINE ! 

where  the  whole  street  was  flooded  crimson  and  the 
gutters  rippled  blood  !  And  you  ?  I  saw  you  ride 
with  your  lancers  into  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  and  when 
you  met  the  barricade  you  turned  pale  and  rode  back 
again !  I  saw  yon ;  I  was  sitting  with  my  dead  boy 
on  my  knees — I  saw  you — " 

With  a  furious  cry  the  marquis  tore  a  revolver 
from  his  pocket  and  sprang  on  the  Emperor,  and  at 
the  same  instant  Jack  seized  the  crazy  man  by  the 
shoulders  and  hurled  him  violently  to  the  floor. 

Stunned,  limp  as  a  rag,  the  marquis  lay  at  the 
Emperor's  feet,  his  clenched  hands  slowly  relaxing. 

The  Emperor  had  not  moved. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  Jack  stooped,  drew 
the  revolver  from  the  extended  fingers,  and  laid  it 
on  the  table.  Then,  with  a  fearful  glance  at  the  Em 
peror,  he  dragged  the  marquis  to  the  door,  opened 
it  with  a  shove  of  his  foot,  and  half  closed  it  again. 

The  aide-de-camp  stood  there,  staring  at  the  pros 
trate  man. 

"  Here,  help  me  with  him  to  his  carriage ;  he  is  ill, " 
panted  Jack— -"lift  him  !" 

Together  they  carried  him  out  to  the  terrace,  and 
down  the  steps  to  a  coupe  that  stood  waiting. 

"The  marquis  is  ill,"  said  Jack  again;  "put  him 
to  bed  at  once.  Drive  fast." 

Before  the  sound  of  the  wheels  died  away  Jacs 
hastened  back  to  the  dining-room.  Through  the  half- 
opened  door  he  peered,  hesitated,  turned  away,  and 
mounted  the  stairs  slowly  to  his  own  chamber. 

In  the  dining-room  the  lamp  still  burned  dimly. 
Beside  it  sat  the  Emperor,  head  bent,  picking  absently 
at  the  table-cloth  with  short,  shrunken  thumbs. 


XY 

THE   INVASION   OF  LORRAINE 

IT  was  not  yet  dawn.  Jack,  sleeping  with  his  head 
on  his  elbow,  shivered  in  his  sleep,  gasped,  woke,  and 
sat  up  in  bed.  There  was  a  quiet  footfall  by  his  bed, 
the  scrape  of  a  spur,  then  silence. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Grahame  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  I  didn't  mean  to  wake  )Tou.  I'm  off.  I  was 
going  to  leave  a  letter  to  thank  you  and  Madame  de 
Morteyn— " 

"  Are  you  dressed  ?    What  time  is  it  ?" 

"Four  o'clock  —  twenty  minutes  after.  It's  a 
shame  to  rouse  you,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right/'  said  Jack.  "  Will  you  strike 
a  light — there  are  candles  on  my  dresser.  Ah,  that's 
better." 

He  sat  blinking  at  Grahame,  who,  booted  and 
spurred  and  buttoned  to  the  chin,  looked  at  him 
quizzically. 

"  You  were  not  going  off  without  your  coffee,  were 
you  ?"  asked  Jack.  "  Nonsense  ! — wait."  He  pulled  a 
bell-rope  dangling  over  his  head.  "  Now  that  means 
coffee  and  hot  rolls  in  twenty  minutes." 

When  Jack  had  bathed  and  shaved,  operations  he 
executed  with  great  rapidity,  the  coffee  was  brought, 
and  he  and  Grahame  fell  to  by  candle-light. 


158  LORRAINE  f 

"I  thought  you  were  afoot  ?"  said  Jack,  glancing  at 
the  older  man's  spurs. 

"  Fm  going  to  hunt  up  a  horse  •  I'm  tired  of  this 
eternal  tramping,"  replied  Grahame.  "  Hello,  is  this 
package  for  me  ?" 

(t  Yes,  there's  a  cold  chicken  and  some  things,  and 
a  flask  to  keep  you  until  you  find  your  Hohenzollern 
Regiment  again." 

Grahame  rose  and  held  out  his  hand.  "Good-by. 
You've  been  very  kind,  Marche.  Will  you  say,  for 
me,  all  that  should  be  said  to  Madame  de  Morteyn  ? 
Good  -  by  once  more,  my  dear  fellow.  Don't  forget 
me — I  shall  never  forget  you !" 

"Wait,"  said  Jack;  "you  are  going  off  without  a 
safe-conduct." 

"Don't  need  it;  there's  not  ft  French  soldier  in 
Morteyn." 

"Gone  ?"  stammered  Jack — "the  Emperor,  General 
Frossard,  the  army — " 

"Every  mother's  son  of  them,  and  I  must  hur- 
ry-" 

Their  hands  met  again  in  a  cordial  grasp,  then 
Grahame  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  hallwaj^,  and  Jack 
turned  to  finish  dressing  by  the  light  of  his  clustered 
candles. 

As  he  stood  before  the  quaintly  wrought  mirror, 
fussing  with  studs  and  buttons,  he  thought  with  a 
shudder  of  the  scene  of  the  night  before,  the  marquis 
and  his  murderous  frenzy,  the  impassive  Emperor, 
the  frantic  man  hurled  to  the  polished  floor,  stunned, 
white-cheeked,  with  hands  slowly  relaxing  and  fingers 
uncurling  from  the  glittering  revolver. 

Lorraine's  father !    And  he  had  laid  hands  on  him 


THE  INVASION  OP  LORBAINE  159 

and  had  flung  him  senseless  at  the  feet  of  the  Man  of 
December  J  He  could  scarcely  button  his  collar,  his 
fingers  trembled  so.  Perhaps  he  had  killed  the  Mar 
quis  de  Nesville.  Sick  at  heart,  he  finished  dressing, 
buttoned  his  coat,  flung  a  cap  on  his  head,  and  stole 
out  into  the  darkness. 

On  the  terrace  below  he  saw  a  groom  carrying  a 
lantern,  and  he  went  out  hastily. 

"Saddle  Faust  at  once,"  he  said.  "Have  the 
troops  all  gone  ?" 

"All,  monsieur;  the  last  of  the  cavalry  passed 
three  hours  ago;  the  Emperor  drove  away  half  an 
hour  later  with  Lulu — " 

"Eh?" 

"The  prince  —  pardon,  monsieur  —  they  call  him 
Lulu  in  Paris." 

"Hurry,"  said  Jack;  "I  want  that  horse  at  once." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  galloping  furiously  down 
the  forest  road  towards  the  Chateau  de  Nesville.  The 
darkness  was  impenetrable,  so  he  let  the  horse  find  his 
own  path,  and  gave  himself  up  to  a  profound  dejec 
tion  that  at  times  amounted  to  blind  fear.  Before 
his  eyes  he  saw  the  pallid  face  of  the  Marquis  de 
Nesville,  he  saw  the  man  stretched  on  the  floor,  hor 
ribly  still ;  that  was  the  worst,  the  stillness  of  the 
body. 

The  sky  was  gray  through  the  trees  when  he  turned 
into  the  park  and  skirted  the  wall  to  the  wicket.  The 
wicket  was  locked.  He  rang  repeatedly,  he  shook 
the  grille  and  pounded  on  the  iron  escutcheon  with 
the  butt  of  his  riding-crop ;  and  at  length  a  yawning 
servant  appeared  from  the  gate -lodge  and  sleepily 
dragged  open  the  wicket. 


160  LORRAINE  ! 

"  The  marquis  was  ill,  have  you  heard  anything  ?" 
asked  Jack. 

"  The  marquis  is  there  on  the  porch/'  said  the 
servant,,  with  a  gesture  towards  the  house. 

Jack's  heart  leaped  up.  ' '  Thank  God  I"  he  mut 
tered,  and  dismounted,  throwing  his  bridle  to  the 
porter,  who  now  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

He  could  see  the  marquis  walking  to  and  fro,  hands 
clasped  behind  his  strong,  athletic  back  ;  his  head  was 
turned  in  Jack's  direction.  "  The  marquis  is  crazy," 
thought  Jack,  hesitating.  He  was  convinced  now 
that  long  brooding  over  ancient  wrongs  had  unsettled 
the  man's  mind.  There  had  always  been  something  in 
his  dazzling  blue  eyes  that  troubled  Jack,  and  now  he 
knew  it  was  the  pale  light  of  suppressed  frenzy.  Still, 
he  would  have  to  face  him  sooner  or  later,  and  he  did 
not  recoil  now  that  the  hour  and  the  place  and  the 
man  had  come. 

"I'll  settle  it  once  for  all,"  he  thought,  and  walked 
straight  up  the  path  to  the  house.  The  marquis 
came  down  the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"I  expected  you,"  he  said,  without  a  trace  of  anger. 
' '  I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  Will  you  come  in  or 
shall  we  sit  in  the  arbour  there  ?  You  will  enter  ? 
Then  come  to  the  turret,  Monsieur  Marche." 

Jack  would  have  refused,  but  he  had  not  the  cour 
age.  He  was  not  at  all  pleased  at  the  idea  of  mount 
ing  to  a  turret  with  a  man  whom  he  had  laid  violent 
hands  on  the  night  before,  a  man  whom  he  had  seen 
succumb  to  an  access  of  insane  fury  in  the  presence 
of  the  Emperor  of  France.  But  he  went,  cursing  the 
cowardice  that  prevented  him  from  being  cautious; 
and  in  a  few  moments  he  entered  the  chamber  where 


THE   INVASION  OP  LORRAINE  161 

retorts  and  bottles  and  steel  machinery  littered  every 
corner,  and  the  pale  dawn  broke  through  the  window 
in  ghastly  streams  of  light,  changing  the  candle-flames 
to  sickly  greenish  blotches. 

They  sat  opposite  each  other,  neither  speaking. 
Jack  glanced  at  a  heavy  steel  rod  on  the  floor  beside 
him.  It  was  just  as  well  to  know  it  was  there,  in  case 
of  need. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  marquis,  abruptly,  "I  owe 
you  a  great  deal  more  than  my  life,  which  is  nothing ; 
I  owe  you  my  family  honour." 

This  was  a  new  way  of  looking  at  the  situa 
tion  ;  Jack  fidgeted  in  his  chair  and  eyed  the  mar 
quis. 

"Thanks  to  you,"  he  continued,  quietly,  "I  am 
not  an  assassin,  I  am  not  a  batcher  of  dogs.  The  De 
Nesvilles  were  never  public  executioners  —  they  left 
that  to  the  Bonapartes  and  Monsieur  de  Paris." 

He  rose  hastily  from  his  chair  and  held  out  a  hand. 
Jack  took  it  warily  and  returned  the  nervous  press 
ure.  Then  they  both  resumed  their  seats. 

"Let  us  clear  matters  up,"  said  the  marquis  in  a 
wonderfully  gentle  voice,  that  would  have  been  fasci 
nating  to  more  phlegmatic  men  than  Jack — "let  us 
clear  up  everything  and  understand  each  other.  You, 
monsieur,  dislike  me  ;  pardon — you  dislike  me  for  rea 
sons  of  your  own.  I,  on  the  contrary,  like  you  ;  I  like 
you  better  this  moment  than  I  ever  did.  Had  you 
not  come  as  I  expected,  had  you  not  entered,  had  you 
refused  to  mount  to  the  turret,  I  still  should  have 
liked  you.  Now  I  also  respect  you." 

Jack  twisted  and  turned  in  his  chair,  not  knowing 
what  to  think  or  say. 
11 


162  LORKAINE  ! 

"Why  do  you  dislike  me?"  asked  the  marquis, 
quietly. 

"Because  you  are  not  kind  to  your  daughter,"  said 
Jack,  bluntly. 

To  his  horror  the  man's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  big, 
glittering  tears  that  rolled  down  his  immovable  face. 
Then  a  flush  stained  his  forehead;  the  fever  in  his 
cheeks  dried  the  tears. 

"  Jack,"  he  said,  calling  the  young  fellow  by  his 
name  with  a  peculiarly  tender  gesture,  "I  loved  my 
son.  My  soul  died  within  me  when  Rene  died,  there 
on  the  muddy  pavement  of  the  Paris  boulevards.  I 
sometimes  think  I  am  perhaps  a  little  out  of  my 
mind  ;  I  brood  on  it  too  much.  That  is  why  I  flung 
myself  into  this  " — with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  towards  the 
flasks  and  machinery  piled  around.  "  Lorraine  is  a 
girl,  sweet,  lovable,  loyal.  But  she  is  not  my  daugh 
ter." 

"  Lorraine  !"  stammered  Jack. 

"Lorraine." 

The  young  fellow  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  studied 
the  face  of  the  pale  man  before  him. 

"Not— your  child?" 

"No." 

"  Whose  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell.* 

After  a  silence  the  marquis  stood  up  and  walked 
to  the  window.  His  face  was  haggard,  his  hair  di 
shevelled. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  Lorraine  is  not  my  daughter.  She 
is  not  even  my  heiress.  She  was — she  was — found, 
eighteen  years  ago." 

The  room  was  becoming  lighter;  the  sky  grew 


THE   INVASION  OP  LORRAINE  163 

faintly  luminous  and  the  mist  from  the  stagnant  fen 
surled  up  along  the  turret  like  smoke. 

Jack  picked  up  his  cap  and  riding-crop  and  rose  ; 
the  marquis  turned  from  the  window  to  confront 
him.  His  face  was  no  longer  furrowed  with  pain, 
the  cold  light  had  crept  back  into  his  eyes. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jack,  " I  ask  your  permission  to 
address  Lorraine.  I  love  her." 

The  marquis  stood  silent,  scarcely  breathing. 

"You  know  who  and  what  I  am;  you  probably 
know  what  I  have.  It  is  enough  for  me ;  it  will  be 
enough  for  us  both.  I  shall  work  to  make  it  enough. 
I  do  not  expect  or  wish  for  anything  from  you  for 
Lorraine  :  I  do  not  give  it  a  thought.  Lorraine  does 
not  love  me,  but,"  and  here  he  spoke  with  humility, 
"  I  believe  that  she  might.  If  I  win  her,  will  you 
give  her  to  me  ?" 

"  Win  her  ?"  repeated  the  marquis,  with  an  ugly 
look.  The  man's  face  was  changing  now,  darkening 
in  the  morning  light. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  violently,  "you  may  say  to 
her  what  you  please  !"  and  he  opened  the  door  and 
showed  Jack  the  way  out. 

Dazed,  completely  mystified,  Jack  hurried  away  to 
find  his  horse  at  the  gate  where  he  had  left  him.  The 
marquis  was  crazy,  that  was  certain.  These  unac 
countable  moods  and  passions,  following  each  other 
so  abruptly,  were  nothing  else  but  reactions  from 
a  life  of  silent  suffering.  All  the  way  back  to  Mor- 
teyn  he  pondered  on  the  strange  scene  in  the  turret, 
the  repudiation  of  Lorraine,  the  sudden  tenderness  for 
himself,  and  then  the  apathy,  the  suppressed  anger, 
the  indifference  coupled  with  unexplainable  emotion. 


164  LORRAINE  ! 

"  No  sane  man  could  act  like  that/'  he  mnrmnred, 
as  he  rode  into  the  Morteyn  gate,  and,  with  a  smart 
slap  of  his  hand  on  Faust's  withers,  he  sent  that  in 
telligent  animal  at  a  trot  towards  the  stables,  where 
a  groom  awaited  him  with  sponge  and  bucket. 

The  gardeners  were  cleaning  up  the  litter  in  the 
roads  and  paths  left  by  the  retreating  army.  The 
road  by  the  gate  was  marked  with  hoof  and  wheel, 
but  the  macadam  had  not  suffered  very  much,  and 
already  a  roller  was  at  work  removing  furrow  and 
hoof-print. 

He  entered  the  dining-room.  It  was  empty.  So 
also  was  the  breakfast-room,  for  breakfast  had  been 
served  an  hour  before. 

He  sent  for  coffee  and  muffins  and  made  a  hasty 
breakfast,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  times  for 
signs  of  his  aunt  and  Lorraine.  The  maid  said  that 
Madame  de  Morteyn  had  driven  to  Saint-Lys  with 
the  marquis,  and  that  Mademoiselle  de  Nesville  had 
gone  to  her  room.  So  he  finished  his  coffee,  went 
to  his  room,  changed  his  clothes,  and  sent  a  maid 
to  inquire  whether  Lorraine  would  receive  him  in 
the  small  library  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The 
maid  returned  presently,  saying  that  Mademoiselle 
de  Nesville  would  be  down  in  a  moment  or  two,  so 
Jack  strolled  into  the  library  and  leaned  out  of  the 
window  to  smoke. 

When  she  came  in  he  did  not  hear  her  until  she 
spoke. 

"  Don't  throw  your  cigarette  away,  monsieur;  I 
permit  you  to  smoke — indeed,  I  command  it.  How 
do  you  do  ?"  This  in  very  timid  English.  "I  mean 
—good  -  morning — oh,  dear,  this  terrible  English  Ian- 


THE   INVASION   OP  LOKRAINE  165 

guage  !  Now  yon  may  sit  there,  in  that  large  leather 
arm-chair,  and  you  may  tell  me  why  yon  did  not  ap 
pear  at  breakfast.  Is  Monsienr  Grahame  still  sleep 
ing  ?  Gone  ?  Oh,  dear  !  And  yon  have  been  to  the 
Chateau  de  Nesville  ?  Is  my  father  well  ?  And  con 
tented  ?  There,  I  knew  he  would  miss  me.  Did  you 
give  him  my  dearest  love  ?  Thank  you  for  remem 
bering.  Now  tell  me — " 

"  What  r  laughed  Jack. 

"Everything,  of  course." 

"Everything?" 

She  looked  at  him,  but  did  not  answer. 

Then  he  deliberately  sat  down  and  made  love  to 
her,  not  actual,  open,  unblushing  love — but  he  started 
in  to  win  her,  and  what  his  tongue  refused  to  tell,  his 
eyes  told  until  trepidation  seized  her,  and  she  sat 
back  speechless,  watching  him  with  shy  blue  eyes 
that  always  turned  when  they  met  his,  but  always 
returned  when  his  were  lowered. 

It  is  a  pretty  game,  this  first  preliminary  of  love — 
like  the  graceful  sword-play  and  salute  of  two  swords 
men  before  a  duel.  There  was  no  one  to  cry  "  Garde 
a  vons  I"  no  one  to  strike  up  the  weapons  that  were 
thrust  at  two  tmarmoured  hearts,  for  the  weapons 
were  words  and  glances,  and  Love,  the  umpire,  alas ! 
was  not  impartial. 

So  the  timid  heart  of  Lorraine  was  threatened,  and, 
before  she  knew  it,  the  invasion  had  begun.  She  did 
not  repel  it  with  desperation ;  at  times,  even,  she  smiled 
at  the  invader,  and  that,  if  not  utter  treachery,  was 
giving  aid  and  encouragement  to  the  enemy. 

Besieged,  threatened,  she  sat  there  in  the  arm-chair, 
half  frightened,  half  smiling,  fearful  yet  contented, 

12 


166  LORRAINE  ! 

alarmed  yet  secure,  now  resisting,  now  letting  her 
self  drift  on,  until  the  result  of  the  combination  made 
Jack's  head  spin ;  and  he  felt  resentful  in  his  heart, 
and  he  said  to  himself  what  all  men  under  such  cir 
cumstances  say  to  themselves — ' ( Coquetry  I" 

One  moment  he  was  sure  she  loved  him,  the  next 
he  was  certain  she  did  not.  This  oscillation  between 
heaven  and  hell  made  him  unhappy,  and,  manlike, 
he  thought  the  fault  was  hers.  This  is  the  founda 
tion  for  man's  belief  in  the  coquetry  of  women. 

As  for  Lorraine,  she  thrilled  with  a  gentle  fear  that 
was  the  most  delightful  sensation  she  had  ever  known. 
She  looked  shyly  at  the  strong -limbed,  sunburned 
young  fellow  opposite,  and  she  began  to  wonder  why 
he  was  so  fascinating.  Every  turn  of  his  head,  every 
gesture,  every  change  in  his  face  she  knew  now — knew 
so  well  that  she  blushed  at  her  own  knowledge. 

But  she  would  not  permit  him  to  come  nearer  ;  she 
could  not,  although  she  saw  his  disappointment,  under 
a  laugh,  when  she  refused  to  let  him  read  the  lines  of 
fate  in  her  rosy  palm.  Then  she  wished  she  had  laid 
her  hand  in  his  when  he  asked  it,  then  she  wondered 
whether  he  thought  her  stupid,  then —  But  it  is 
always  the  same,  the  gamut  run  of  shy  alarm,  of 
tenderness,  of  fear,  of  sudden  love  looking  unbidden 
from  eyes  that  answer  love.  So  the  morning  wore 
away. 

The  old  vicomte  came  back  with  his  wife  and  sat 
in  the  library  with  them,  playing  chess  until  luncheon 
was  served  ;  and  after  that  Lorraine  went  away  to  em 
broider  something  or  other  that  Madame  de  Morteyri 
had  for  her  up-stairs.  A  little  later  the  vicomte  also 
went  to  take  a  nap,  and  Jack  was  left  alone  lying  on 


THE   INVASION  OF  LORRAINE  167 

the  lounge,  too  lonely  to  read,  too  unhappy  to  smoke, 
too  lazy  to  sleep. 

He  had  been  lying  there  for  an  hour  thinking  about 
Lorraine  and  wondering  whether  she  would  ever  be 
told  what  her  exact  relation  to  the  Marquis  de  Nes- 
ville  was,  when  a  maid  brought  him  two  letters,  post 
marked  Paris.  One  he  saw  at  a  glance  was  from  his 
sister,  and,  like  a  brother,  he  opened  the  other  first. 

"DEAR  JACK, — I  am  very  unhappy.  Sir  Thoralcl  has  gone 
off  to  St.  Petersburg  in  a  huff,  and,  if  he  stops  at  Morteyn,  tell 
him  Lc's  a  fool  and  that  I  want  him  to  corne  back.  You're  the 
only  person  on  earth  I  can  write  this  to. 

"Faithfully  yours,  MOLLY  HESKETH." 

Jack  laughed  aloud,  then  sat  silent,  frowning  at 
the  dainty  bit  of  letter-paper,  crested  and  delicately 
fragrant.  Yes,  he  could  read  between  the  lines  —  a 
man  in  love  is  less  dense  than  when  in  his  normal 
state — and  he  was  sorry  for  Molly  Hesketh.  He 
thought  of  Sir  Thorald  as  Archibald  Grahame  had 
described  him,  standing  amid  a  shower  of  bricks  and 
bursting  .shells,  staring  at  war  through  a  monocle. 

"  He's  a  beast,"  thought  Jack,  "  but  a  plucky  one. 
If  he  goes  to  Cologne  he's  worse  than  a  beast."  A 
vision  of  little  Alixe  came  before  him,  blond,  tearful, 
gazing  trustingly  at  Sir  Thorald's  drooping  mustache. 
It  made  him  angry ;  he  wished,  for  a  moment,  that  he 
had  Sir  Thorald  by  the  neck.  This  train  of  thought 
led  him  to  think  of  Rickerl,  and  from  Rickerl  he  nat 
urally  came  to  the  llth  Uhlans. 

"By  jingo,  it's  unlucky  I  shot  that  fellow,"  he  ex 
claimed,  half  aloud ;  ( '  I  don't  want  to  meet  any  of 
that  picket  again  while  this  war  lasts/' 


168  LORRAINE  ! 

Unpleasant  visions  of  himself,  spitted  neatly  npon 
a  Uhlan's  lance,  rose  up  and  were  hard  to  dispel.  He 
wished  Frossard's  troops  had  not  been  in  such  a  hurry 
to  quit  Morteyn  ;  he  wondered  whether  any  other 
troops  were  between  him  and  Saarbriick.  The  truth 
was,  he  should  have  left  the  country,  and  he  knew 
it.  But  how  could  he  leave  until  his  aunt  and  uncle 
were  ready  to  go  ?  And  there  was  Lorraine.  Could 
he  go  and  leave  her  ?  Suppose  the  Germans  should 
pass  that  way ;  not  at  all  likely — but  suppose  they 
should  ?  Suppose,  even,  there  should  be  fighting  near 
Morteyn  ?  No,  he  could  never  go  away  and  leave 
Lorraine — that  was  out  of  the  question. 

He  lighted  a  match  and  moodily  burned  Molly's 
letter  to  ashes  in  the  fireplace.  He  also  stirred  the 
ashes  up,  for  he  was  honourable  in  little  things — like 
Kicky — and  also,  alas  !  apparently  no  novice. 

Dorothy's  letter  lay  on  the  table — her  third  since 
she  had  left  for  Paris.  He  opened  his  knife  and  split 
the  envelope  carefully,  still  thinking  of  Lorraine. 

"MY  OWN  DEAR  JACK, —There  is  something  I  have  been 
trying  to  tell  you  in  the  other  three  letters,  but  I  have  not  suc 
ceeded,  and  I  am  going  to  try  again.  I  shall  tuck  it  away  in 
some  quiet  little  corner  of  my  page ;  so  if  you  do  not  read 
carefully  between  every  line,  you  may  not  find  it,  after  all. 

"I  have  just  seen  Lady  Hesketh.  She  looks  pale  and  ill — 
the  excitement  in  the  city  and  that  horrid  National  Guard  keep 
our  nerves  on  edge  every  moment.  Sir  Thorald  is  away  on 
business,  she  says — where,  I  forgot  to  ask  her.  I  saw  the  Em 
press  driving  in  the  Bois  yesterday.  Some  ragamuffins  hissed 
her,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  her.  Oh,  if  men  only  knew  what  women 
suffer  !  But  don't  think  I  am  suffering.  I  am  not.  Jack  ;  I  am 
very  well  and  very  cheerful.  Betty  Castlemaine  is  going  to  be 
engaged  to  Cecil,  and  the  announcement  will  be  in  all  the  Eng- 


THE   INVASION   OF   LOREAINB  169 

lish  papers.     Oh,  dear  !  I  don't  know  why  that  should  make 
me  sad,  but  it  does.     No,  it  doesn't,  Jack,  dear. 

"The  city  is  very  noisy  ;  the  National  Guard  parade  every 
day  ;  they  seem  to  be  all  officers  and  drummers  and  no  men. 
Everybody  says  we  gained  a  great  victory  on  the  2d  of  August. 
I  wonder  whether  Rickerl  was  in  it?  Do  you  know  ?  His  regi 
ment  is  the  llth  Uhlans.  Were  they  there  ?  Were  any  hurt  ? 
Oh,  Jack,  I  am  so  miserable  !  They  speak  of  a  battle  at  Wis- 
sembourg  and  one  at  the  Spicheren.  Were  the  llth  Uhlans 
there  ?  Try  to  find  out,  dear,  and  write  me  at  once.  Don't 
forget — the  llth  Uhlans.  Oh,  Jack,  darling  !  can't  you  under 
stand  ?  Your  loving  sister.  DOKOTHY.  " 

"Understand  ?  What  ?"  repeated  Jack.  He  read 
the  letter  again  carefully. 

"  I  can't  see  what  the  mischief  is  extraordinary  in 
that/'  he  mused,  "  unless  she's  giving  me  a  tip  about 
Sir  Thorald;  but  no  —  she  can't  know  anything  in 
that  direction.  Now  what  is  it  that  she  has  hidden 
away?  Oh,  here's  a  postscript." 

He  turned  the  sheet  and  read  : 

"My  love  to  aunt  and  uncle,  Jack — don't  forget.  I  am  writ 
ing  them  "by  this  mail.  Is  the  llth  Uhlan  Regiment  in  Prince 
Frederick  Charles's  Army?  Be  sure  to  find  out.  There  is 
absolutely  nothing  In  the  Paris  papers  about  the  llth  Uhlans, 
and  I  am  astonished.  But  what  can  one  expect  from  Paris 
journals  ?  I  tried  to  subscribe  to  the  Berlin  Post  and  the  Ham 
burger  Nachrichten  and  the  Munich  Neueste  Nachrichten,  but  the 
horrid  creature  at  the  kiosk  said  she  wouldn't  have  a  German 
sheet  in  her  place.  I  hope  the  Herald  will  give  particulars  of 
losses  in  both  armies.  Do  you  think  it  will  ?  Oh,  why  on 
earth  do  these  two  foolish  nations  fight  each  other  ? 

"  DOKRIE. 

"  P.  P.  S. — Jack,  for  my  sake,  pay  attention  to  what  I  ask  you 
and  answer  every  question.  And  don't  forget  to  find  out  all 
about  the  llth  Uhlans.  D." 


170  LORBAINE  1 

"Now,  what  on  earth  interests  Dorrie  in  all  these 
battle  statistics?"  he  wondered;  "and  what  in  the 
name  of  common-sense  can  she  find  to  interest  her  in 
the  llth  Uhlans  ?  Ricky  ?  Absurd  I" 

He  repeated  f( absurd"  two  or  three  times,  but  he  be 
came  more  thoughtful  a  moment  later,  and  sat  smok 
ing  and  pondering.  That  would  be  a  nice  muddle  if 
she,  the  niece  of  a  Frenchman — an  American,  too — 
should  fix  her  affections  on  a  captain  of  Uhlans  whose 
regiment  he,  Jack  Marche,  would  avoid  as  he  would 
hope  to  avoid  the  black  small-pox. 

"  Absurd,"  he  repeated  for  the  fourth  time,  and 
tossed  his  cigarette  into  the  open  fireplace.  And  as 
he  rose  to  go  up-stairs  something  out  on  the  road  by 
the  gate  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  went  to  the 
window. 

Three  horsemen  sat  in  their  saddles  on  the  lawn, 
lance  on  thigh,  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

They  were  Uhlans ! 


XVI 

"IN  THE  HOLLOW   OF  THY  HAND" 

FOE  a  moment  he  recoiled  as  though  he  had  re 
ceived  a  blow  between  the  eyes. 

There  they  sat,  little  glistening  schapskas  rakishly 
tilted  over  one  ear,  black-and-white  pennons  drooping 
from  the  lance-points,  schabraques  edged  with  yellow 
— aye,  and  tunics  also,  yellow  and  blue — those  were 
the  colours — the  colours  of  the  llth  Uhlans. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  fully  realized  his  posi 
tion  and  what  it  might  mean.  Death  was  the  penalty 
for  what  he  had  done — death  even  though  the  man  he 
had  shot  were  not  dead  —  death  though  he  had  not 
even  hit  him.  That  was  not  all ;  it  meant  death  in  its 
most  awful  form — hanging  !  For  this  was  the  penalty  : 
any  civilian,  foreigner,  franc-soldier,  or  other  unrec 
ognized  combatant,  firing  upon  German  troops,  giving 
aid  to  French  troops  while  within  the  sphere  of  Ger 
man  influence,  by  aiding,  abetting,  signalling,  inform 
ing,  or  otherwise,  was  hung — sometimes  with  a  drum 
head  court-martial,  sometimes  without. 

Every  bit  of  blood  and  strength  seemed  to  leave  his 
limbs;  he  leaned  back  against  the  table,  cold  with 
fear. 

This  was  the  young  man  who  had  sat  sketching  at 
Sadowa  where  the  needle-guns  sent  a  shower  of  lead 


172  LORRAINE  I 

over  his  rocky  observatory  ;  the  same  who  had  risked 
death  by  fearful  mutilation  in  Oran  when  he  rode 
back  and  flung  a  half-dead  Spahi  over  his  own  saddle, 
in  the  face  of  a  charging,  howling  hurricane  of  Kabyle 
horsemen. 

Sabre  and  lance  and  bullets  were  things  he  under 
stood,  but  he  did  not  understand  ropes. 

He  could  not  tell  whether  the  Uhlans  had  seen  him 
or  not ;  there  were  lace  curtains  in  the  room,  but  the 
breeze  blew  them  back  from  the  open  window.  Had 
they  seen  him? 

All  at  once  the  horses  jerked  their  heads,  reared, 
and  wheeled  like  cattle  shying  at  a  passing  train,  and 
away  went  the  Uhlans,  plunging  out  into  the  road. 
There  was  a  nutter  of  pennants,  a  fling  or  two  of 
horses'  heels,  a  glimmer  of  yellow,  and  they  were 
gone. 

Utterly  unnerved,  Jack  sank  into  the  arm-chair. 
What  should  he  do  ?  If  he  stayed  at  Morteyn  he  stood 
a  good  chance  of  hanging.  He  could  not  leave  his 
aunt  and  uncle,  nor  could  he  tell  them,  for  the  two 
old  people  would  fall  sick  with  the  anxiety.  And  yet, 
if  he  stayed  at  Morteyn,  and  the  Germans  came,  it 
might  compromise  the  whole  household  and  bring 
destruction  to  Chateau  and  park.  He  had  not  thought 
01  that  before,  but  now  he  remembered -also  another 
German  rule,  inflexible,  unvarying.  It  was  this,  that 
in  a  town  or  village  where  the  inhabitants  resisted  by 
force  or  injured  any  German  soldier,  the  village  should 
be  burned  and  the  provisions  and  stock  confiscated 
for  the  use  of  King  Wilhelm's  army. 

Shocked  at  his  own  thoughtlessness,  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  walked  hastily  to  the  terrace.  Nothing 


"EN  THE  HOLLOW   OF  THY  HAND"  173 

was  to  be  seen  on  the  road,  nor  yet  in  the  meadows 
beyond.  lip-stairs  he  heard  Lorraine's  voice,  and  his 
aunt's  voice,  too.  Sometimes  they  laughed  a  little  in 
low  tones,  and  he  even  caught  the  rustle  of  stiff  silken 
embroidery  against  the  window-sill. 

His  mind  was  made  up  in  an  instant ;  his  coolness 
returned  as  the  colour  returns  to  a  pale  cheek.  The 
Uhlans  had  probably  not  seen  him  ;  if  they  had,  it 
made  little  difference,  for  even  the  picquet  that  had 
chased  him  could  not  have  recognized  him  at  that 
distance.  Then,  again,  in  a  whole  regiment  it  was 
not  likely  that  the  three  horsemen  who  had  peeped 
at  Morteyn  through  the  road -gate  could  have  been 
part  of  that  same  cursed  picquet.  No,  the  thing  to 
avoid  was  personal  contact  with  any  of  the  llth 
Uhlans.  This  would  be  a  matter  of  simple  prudence  ; 
outside  of  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the 
Prussian  army.  Whenever  he  saw  the  schapskas  and 
lances  he  would  be  cautious ;  when  these  lances  were 
pennoned  with  black  and  white,  and  when  the  schap 
skas  and  schabraques  were  edged  with  yellow,  he 
would  keep  out  of  the  way  altogether.  It  shamed 
him  terribly  to  think  of  his  momentary  panic;  he 
cursed  himself  for  a  coward,  and  dug  his  clenched 
fists  into  both  pockets.  But  even  as  he  stood  there, 
withering  himself  with  self -scorn,  he  could  not  help 
hoping  that  his  aunt  and  uncle  would  find  it  conven 
ient  to  go  to  Paris  soon.  That  would  leave  him  free 
to  take  his  own  chances  by  remaining,  to  be  near  Lor 
raine.  For  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might 
leave  Morteyn  as  long  as  Lorraine  stayed. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  lighted  a  pipe 
and  walked  out  to  the  road,  where  the  smooth  mac- 


174  LORRAINE  I 

adam  no  longer  bore  the  slightest  trace  of  wheel  or 
hoof,  and  nobody  could  have  imagined  that  part  of 
an  army  corps  had  passed  there  the  night  before. 

lie  felt  lonely  and  a  little  despondent,,  and  he  walked 
along  the  road  to  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Morteyn 
and  sat  down  at  her  naked  stone  feet.  And  as  he 
sat  there  smoking,  twirling  his  shooting -cap  in  his 
hands,  without  the  least  warning  a  horseman,  advanc 
ing  noiselessly  across  the  turf,  passed  him,  carbine  on 
thigh,  busby  glittering  with  the  silver  skull  and  cross- 
bones.  Before  he  could  straighten  up  another  horse 
man  passed,  then  another,  then  three,  then  six,  then  a 
dozen,  all  sitting  with  poised  carbines,  scarcely  notic 
ing  him  at  all,  the  low,  blazing  sun  glittering  on  the 
silver  skulls  and  crossed  thigh-bones,  deep  set  in  their 
sombre  head-gear. 

They  were  Black  Hussars. 

A  distant  movement  came  to  his  ear  at  the  same 
time,  the  soft  shock  of  thousands  of  footfalls  on  the 
highway.  He  sprang  up  and  started  forward,  but  a 
trooper  warned  him  back  with  a  stern  gesture,  and 
he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  shrine,  excited  but  out 
wardly  cool,  listening  to  the  approaching  trample. 

He  knew  what  it  meant  now;  these  passing  videttes 
were  the  dust  before  the  tempest,  the  prophecy  of  the 
deluge.  For  the  sound  on  the  distant  highway  was 
the  sound  of  infantry,  and  a  host  was  on  the  march, 
a  host  helmeted  with  steel  and  shod  with  steel,  a  vast 
live  bulk,  gigantic,  scaled  in  mail,  whose  limbs  were 
human,  whose  claws  were  lances  and  bayonets,  whose 
red  tongues  were  flame-jets  from  a  thousand  cannon. 

The  German  army  had  entered  France  and  the 
province  of  Lorraine  was  a  name. 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OP  THY   HAND"  175 

Like  a  hydra  of  three  hideous  heads  the  German 
army  had  pushed  its  course  over  the  Saar,  over  the 
Rhine,  over  the  Lauter;  it  sniffed  at  the  frontier 
line  ;  licked  Wissembourg  and  the  Spicheren  with 
naming  tongues,  shuddered,  coiled,  and  glided  over 
the  boundary  into  the  fair  land  of  Lorraine.  Then, 
like  some  dreadful  ringed  monster,  it  cast  off  two 
segments,  north,  south,  and  moved  forward  on  its 
belly,  while  the  two  new  segments,  already  turned  to 
living  bodies,  with  heads  and  eyes  and  contracted 
scales,  struggled  on  alone,  diverging  to  the  north  and 
south,  creeping,  squirming,  undulating,  penetrating 
villages  and  cities,  stretching  across  hills  and  rivers, 
until  all  the  land  was  shining  with  shed  scales  and 
the  sky  reeked  with  the  smoke  of  flaming  tongues. 
This  was  the  invasion  of  France.  Before  it  Frossard 
recoiled,  leaving  the  Spicheren  a  smoking  hell ;  before 
it  Douay  fell  above  the  flames  of  Wissembourg  ;;u id 
yet  Gravel  otte  had  not  been,  and  Vionville  was  a 
peaceful  name,  and  Mars-la-Tour  lay  in  the  sunshine, 
mellow  with  harvests,  gay  with  the  scarlet  of  the 
Garde  Imperiale. 

On  the  hill-sides  of  Lorraine  were  letters  of  fire, 
writing  for  all  France  to  read,  and  every  separate 
letter  was  a  flaming  village.  The  Emperor  read  it 
and  bent  his  weary  steps  towards  Chalons;  Bazaine 
read  it  and  said,  "  There  is  time ;"  MacMahon,  Can- 
robert,  Leboeuf,  Ladmirault  read  it  and  wondered 
idly  what  it  meant,  till  Vinoy  turned  a  retreat  into  a 
triumph,  and  Gambetta,  flabby,  pompous,  unbalanced, 
bawled  platitudes  from  the  Palais  Bourbon. 

In  three  splendid  armies  the  tide  of  invasion  set 
in ;  the  Red  Prince  tearing  a  bloody  path  to  Metz, 


176  LORRAINE  ! 

the  Crown  Prince  riding  west  by  south,  resting  in 
Nancy,  snubbing  Toul,  spreading  out  into  the  valley 
of  the  Marne  to  build  three  monuments  of  bloody 
bones — Saint-Marie,  Amaiivilliers,  Saint-Privat. 

Metz,  crouching  behind  Saint-Quentin  and  Les  Bot- 
tes,  turned  her  anxious  eyes  from  Thionville  to  Saint- 
J  alien  and  back  to  where  MacMahon's  three  rockets 
should  have  starred  the  sky;  and  what  she  saw  was 
the  Red  Prince  riding  like  a  fiery  spectre  from  east 
to  west ;  what  she  saw  was  the  spiked  helmets  of 
the  Feldwache  and  the  sodded  parapets  of  Longeau. 
Chained  and  naked,  the  beautiful  city  crouched  in 
the  tempest  that  was  to  free  her  forever  and  give  her 
the  life  she  scorned,  the  life  more  bitter  than  death. 

Something  of  this  ominous  prophecy  came  to  Jack, 
standing  below  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Morteyn, 
listening  to  the  on-coming  shock  of  German  feet,  as 
he  watched  the  cavalry  riding  past  in  the  glow  of  the 
setting  sun. 

And  now  the  infantry  burst  into  view,  a  gloomy, 
solid  column  tramp,  tramp  along  the  road — jagers, 
with  their  stiff  fore-and-aft  shakos,  dull-green  tunics, 
and  snuffy,  red -striped  trousers  tucked  into  dusty 
half-boots.  On  they  came,  on,  on — would  they  never 
pass  ?  At  last  they  were  gone,  somewhere  into  the 
flaming  west,  and  now  the  red  sunbeams  slanted  on 
eagle  crests  and  tipped  the  sea  of  polished  spiked  hel 
mets  with  fire,  for  a  line  regiment  was  coming,  shak 
ing  the  earth  with  its  rhythmical  tramp — thud!  thud! 
thud! 

He  looked  across  the  fields  to  the  hills  beyond ; 
more  regiments,  dark  masses  moving  against  the  sky, 
covered  the  landscape  far  as  the  eye  could  roach; 


"IN  THE  HOLLOW  OF  THY  HAND"  177 

cavalry,,  too,,  were  riding  on  the  Saint -Avoid  road 
through  the  woods  ;  and  beyond  that,  vague  silhouettes 
of  moving  wagons  and  horsemen,  crawling  out  into  the 
world  of  valleys  that  stretched  to  Bar-le-Duc  and 
Avricourt. 

Oppressed,  almost  choked,  as  though  a  rising  tide 
had  washed  against  his  breast,  ever  mounting,  seeth 
ing,  creeping,  climbing,  he  moved  forward,  waiting 
for  a  chance  to  cross  the  road  and  gain  the  Chateau, 
where  he  could  see  the  servants  huddling  over  the 
lawn,  and  the  old  vicomte,  erect,  motionless,  on  the 
terrace  beside  his  wife  and  Lorraine. 

Already  in  the  meadow  behind  him  the  first  bivouac 
was  pitched ;  on  the  left  stood  a  park  of  field  artil 
lery,  ammunition-wagons  in  the  rear,  and  in  front 
the  long  lines  of  picket -ropes  to  which  the  horses 
were  fastened,  their  harness  piled  on  the  grass  behind 
them. 

The  forge  was  alight,  the  farriers  busy  shoeing 
horses;  the  armourer  also  bent  beside  his  blazing 
forge,  and  the  tinkling  of  his  hammer  on  small-arms 
rose  musically  above  the  dull  shuffle  of  leather-shod 
feet  on  the  road. 

To  the  right  of  the  artillery,  bisected  as  is  the  Ger 
man  fashion,  lay  two  halves  of  a  battalion  of  infan 
try.  In  the  foreground  the  officers  sat  on  their  camp- 
chairs,  smoking  long  faience  pipes ;  in  the  rear,  driven 
deep  into  the  turf,  the  battalion  flag  stood  furled  in 
its  water-proof  case,  with  the  drum-major's  halberd 
beside  it,  and  drums  and  band  instruments  around 
it  on  the  grass.  Behind  this  lay  a  straight  row  of 
knapsacks,  surrounded  by  the  rolled  great-coats ;  ten 

paces  to  the  rear  another  similar  row ;  between  these 
12 


178  LORRAINE  ! 

two  rows  stood  stacks  of  needle  -  guns,  then  anoth 
er  row  of  knapsacks,  another  stack  of  needle -guns, 
stretching  with  mathematical  exactness  to  the  grove 
of  poplars  by  the  river.  A  cordon  of  sentinels  sur- 
rounded  the  bivouac ;  there  was  a  group  of  soldiers 
around  a  beer  -  cart,  another  throng  near  the  wine- 
cart.  All  was  quiet,  orderly,  and  terribly  sombre. 

Near  the  poplar-trees  the  pioneers  had  dug  their 
trenches  and  lighted  fires.  Across  the  trenches,  on 
poles  of  green  wood,  were  slung  simmering  camp- 
kettles. 

He  turned  again  towards  the  Chateau ;  a  regiment 
of  Saxon  riders  was  passing — had  just  passed — and  he 
could  get  across  now,  for  the  long  line  had  ended  and 
the  last  Prussian  cuirassiers  were  vanishing  over  the 
hill,  straight  into  the  blaze  of  the  setting  sun. 

As  he  entered  the  gate,  behind  him,  from  the  mead 
ow,  an  infantry  band  crashed  out  into  a  splendid 
hymn — a  hymn  in  praise  of  the  Most  High  God,  slow 
to  anger  and  plenteous  in  mercy. 

And  the  soldieie'  hoarse  voices  chimed  in — 

"  Thou,  who  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  Hand—" 
And  the  deep  drums  boomed  His  praise. 


XVII 

THE   KEEPEKS  OF  THE  HOUSE 

THE  candles  were  lighted  again  in  the  ballroom, 
and  again  the  delicate,  gilded  canapes  were  covered 
with  officers,  great  stalwart  fellows  with  blond  hair 
and  blue  eyes,  cuirassiers  in  white  tunics  faced  with 
red,  cuirassiers  in  green  and  white,  black,  yellow,  and 
white,  orange  and  white ;  dragoons  in  blue  and  sal 
mon  colour,  bearing  the  number  "  7"  on  their  shoul 
der-straps,  dragoons  of  the  Guard  in  blue  and  white, 
dragoons  of  the  2d  Regiment  in  black  and  blue. 
There  were  hussars  too,  dandies  of  the  19th  in  their 
tasselled  boots  and  crimson  busby-crowns ;  Black  Hus 
sars,  bearing,  even  on  their  soft  fatigue-caps,  the  em 
blems  of-  death,  the  skull  and  crossed  thigh-bones. 
An  Uhlan  or  two  of  the  2d  Guard  Regiment,  trimmed 
with  white  and  piped  with  scarlet,  dawdled  around 
the  salon,  staring  at  gilded  clock  and  candelabra,  or 
touching  the  grand-piano  with  hesitating  but  itching 
fingers.  Here  and  there  officers  of  the  general  stall 
stood  in  consultation,  great,  stiff,  strapping  men,  fault 
lessly  clothed  in  scarlet  and  black,  holding  their 
spiked  helmets  carefully  under  their  arms.  The  pale 
blue  of  a  Bavarian  dotted  the  assembly  at  rare  in 
tervals,  some  officer  from  Von  Werder's  army,  atten 
tive,  shy,  saying  little  even  when  questioned.  The 


180  LORRAME  ! 

Jtf 

huge  Saxon  officers,  beaming  with  good-nature,  mixed 
amiably  with  the  sour-visaged  Brunswick  men  and 
the  stiff-necked  Prussians. 

In  the  long  dining-room  dinner  was  nearly  ended. 
Facing  each  other  sat  the  old  Vicomte  and  Madame 
de  Morteyn,  he  pale,  dignified,  exquisitely  courteous, 
she  equally  pale  but  more  gentle  in  her  sweet  dignity. 
On  the  right  sat  the  Red  Prince,  stiff  as  steel,  jerky 
in  every  movement,  stern,  forbidding,  unbending  as 
much  as  his  black  Prussian  blood  would  let  him  ;  on 
the  left  sat  a  thin  old  man,  bald  as  an  ivory  ball, 
pallid,  hairless  of  face,  a  frame  of  iron  in  a  sombre, 
wrinkled  tunic,  without  a  single  decoration.  His 
short  hawk's  nose,  keen  and  fine  as  a  falcon's  beak, 
quivered  with  every  breath ;  his  thin  lips  rested  one 
upon  the  other  in  stern,  delicate  curves.  It  was 
Moltke,  the  master  expert,  come  from  Berlin  to  watch 
the  wheels  turning  in  that  vast  complicated  network 
of  machinery  which  he  controlled  with  one  fragile 
finger  pressing  the  button. 

There,  too,  was  Von  Zastrow,  destined  to  make  his 
error  at  Gravelotte,  there  was  Steinmetz,  and  the 
handsome  Saxon  prince,  and  great,  flabby  August  of 
"Wurtemberg,  talking  with  Alvensleben,  dainty,  pious, 
aristocratic.  Behind,  in  the  shadow,  stood  Manstein 
and  Goben,  a  grim,  gray  pair,  with  menacing  eyes. 
Perhaps  they  were  thinking  of  the  Red  Prince's  part 
ing  words  at  the  Spicheren  :  ' '  Your  duty  is  to  march 
forward,  always  forward,  find  the  enemy,  prevent  his 
escape,  and  fight  him  wherever  you  find  him."  To 
which  the  fastidious  and  devout  Alvensleben  mut 
tered,  "In  the  name  of  God,"  and  poor,  brave  Ka- 
inecke,  shuddering  as  he  thought  of  his  Westphaliaiis 


THE    KEEPERS    OF   THE   HOUSE  181 

and  the  cul-de-sac  where  he  had  sent  them  on  the 
6th  day  of  August,  sighed  and  looked  out  into  deep 
ening  twilight. 

Outside  a  Saxon  infantry  band  began  to  play  a  mas 
terpiece  of  Beethoven.  It  seemed  to  be  the  signal 
for  breaking  up,  and  the  Eed  Prince,  with  abrupt  def 
erence,  turned  to  Madame  de  Morteyn,  who  gave  the 
signal  and  rose.  The  Red  Prince  stepped  back  as  the 
old  vicomte  gave  his  wife  a  trembling  arm.  Then  he 
bowed  where  he  stood,  clothed  in  his  tight,  blood-red 
tunic,  tall,  powerful,  square  -  jawed,  cruel  -  mouthed, 
and  eyed  like  a  wolf.  But  his  forehead  was  fine, 
broad,  and  benevolent,  and  his  beard  softened  the 
wicked  curve  of  his  lips. 

Jack  and  Lorraine  had  again  dined  together  in  the 
little  gilded  salon  above,  served  by  Lorraine's  maid 
and  wept  over  by  the  old  house-keeper. 

The  terrified  servants  scarcely  dared  to  breathe  as 
they  crept  through  the  halls  where,  "  like  a  flight  of 
devils  from  hell,"  the  "  Prussian  ogres  "  had  settled 
in  the  house.  They  came  whimpering  to  their  mis 
tress,  but  took  courage  at  the  cairn,  dignified  attitude 
of  the  old  vicomte,  and  began  to  think  that  these 
"children- eating  Prussians"  might  perhaps  forego 
their  craving  for  one  evening.  Therefore  the  chef 
did  his  best,  encouraged  by  a  group  of  hysterical 
maids  who  had  suddenly  become  keenly  alive  to 
their  own  plumpness  and  possible  desirability  for 
ragouts. 

The  old  marquis  himself  received  his  unwelcome 
guests  as  though  he  were  receiving  travelling  stran 
gers,  to  whom,  now  that  they  were  under  his  roof, 
faultless  hospitality  was  due,  nothing  more,  merely 

13 


182  LORRAINE  ! 

the  courtesy  of  a  French  nobleman  to  an  uninvited 
guest. 

Ah,  but  the  steel  was  in  his  heart  to  the  hilt.  He, 
an  old  soldier  of  the  Malakoff,  of  Algeria,  the  brother 
in  arms  of  Changarnier,  of  Chanzy,  he  obliged  to  re 
ceive  invaders — invaders  belonging  to  the  same  nation 
which  had  lined  the  streets  of  Berlin  so  long  ago, 
cringing,  whining  "  Vive  FEmpereur  !"  at  the  crack 
of  the  thongs  of  Murat's  horsemen  ! 

Yet  now  it  wa-s  that  he  showed  himself  the  chival 
rous  soldier,  the  old  colonel  of  the  old  regime,  the 
true  beau  -  sabrenr  of  an  epoch  dead.  And  the  Red 
Prince  Frederick  Charles  knew  it,  and  bowed  low  as 
the  vicomte  left  the  dining-hall  with  his  gentle,  pale- 
faced  wife  on  his  arm. 

Jack,  sitting  after  dinner  with  Lorraine  in  the  bay- 
window  above,  looked  down  upon  the  vast  camp  that 
covered  the  whole  land,  from  the  hills  to  the  Lisse, 
from  the  forest  to  the  pastures  above  Saint -Lys. 
There  were  no  tents — the  German  army  carried  none. 
Here  and  there  a  canvas  -  covered  wagon  glistened 
white  in  the  moonlight;  the  pale  radiance  fell  on 
acres  of  stacked  rifles,  on  the  brass  rirns  of  drums, 
and  the  spikes  of  the  sentries'  helmets.  Videttes, 
vaguely  silhouetted  on  distant  knolls,  stood  almost 
motionless,  save  for  the  tossing  of  their  horses'  heads. 
Along  the  river  Lisse  the  infantry  pickets  lay,  the 
sentinels,  patrolling  their  beats  with  brisk,  firm  steps, 
only  pausing  to  bring  their  heavy  heels  together, 
wheel  squarely,  and  retrace  their  steps,  always  alert 
and  sturdy.  The  wind  shifted  to  the  west  and  the 
faint  chimes  of  Saint  -  Lys  came  quavering  on  the 
breeze. 


THE   KEEPERS    OP   THE   HOUSE  183 

"  The  bells  I"  said  Jack  ;  ' '  can  you  hear  them  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lorraine,  listlessly. 

She  had  been  very  silent  during  their  dinner.  He 
wondered  that  she  had  not  shown  any  emotion  at  the 
sight  of  the  invading  soldiers.  She  had  not — she  had 
scarcely  even  shown  curiosity.  He  thought  that  per 
haps  she  did  not  realize  what  it  meant,  this  swarm  of 
Prussians  pouring  into  France  between  the  Moselle 
and  the  Rhine.  He,  American  that  he  was,  felt  heart 
sick,  humiliated,  at  the  sight  of  the  spiked  casques 
and  armoured  horsemen,  trampling  the  meadows  of 
the  province  that  he  loved — the  province  of  Lorraine. 
For  those  strangers  to  France  who  know  France  know 
two  mothers ;  and  though  the  native  land  is  first  and 
clearest,  the  new  mother,  France,  generous,  tender, 
lies  next  in  the  hearts  of  those  whom  she  has  shel 
tered. 

So  Jack  felt  the  shame  and  humiliation  as  though 
a  blow  had  been  struck  at  his  own  home  and  kin,  and 
he  suffered  the  more  thinking  what  his  uncle  must 
suffer.  And  Lorraine  !  His  heart  had  bled  for  her 
when  the  harsh  treble  of  the  little,  flat  Prussian  drums 
first  broke  out  among  the  hills.  He  looked  for  the 
deep  sorrow,  the  patience,  the  proud  endurance,  the 
prouder  faith  that  he  expected  in  her ;  he  met  with 
silence,  even  a  distrait  indifference. 

Surely  she  could  comprehend  what  this  crushing 
disaster  prophesied  for  France  ?  Surely  she  of  all 
women,  sensitive,  tender,  and  loyal,  must  know  what 
love  of  kin  and  country  meant  ? 

Far  away  in  the  southwest  the  great  heart  of  Paris 
throbbed  in  silence,  for  the  beautiful,  sinful  city, 
confused  by  the  din  of  the  riff  raft  within  her  walls., 


184  LOKRAINK  ! 

blinded  by  lies  and  selfish  counsels,,  crouched  in  mute 
agony,  listening  for  the  first  ominous  rumbling  of  a 
rotten,  tottering  Empire. 

God  alone  knows  why  he  gave  to  France,  in  the 
supreme  moment  of  her  need,  the  beings  who  filled 
heaven  with  the  wind  of  their  lungs  and  brought  her 
to  her  knees  in  shame — not  for  brave  men  dead  in 
vain,  not  for  a  wasted  land,  scourged  and  flame- 
shrunken  from  the  Ehine  to  the  Loire,  not  for  prov 
inces  lost  nor  cities  gone  forever— but  for  the  strange 
creatures  that  her  agony  brought  forth,  shapes  simian 
and  weird,  all  mouth  and  convulsive  movement,  little 
pigmy  abortions  mouthing  and  playing  antics  before 
high  Heaven  while  the  land  ran  blood  in  every  furrow 
and  the  world  was  a  hell  of  flame. 

Gambetta,  that  incubus  of  bombastic  flabbiness, 
roaring  prophecy  and  platitude  through  the  dismayed 
city,  kept  his  eye  on  the  balcony  of  the  particular 
edifice  where,  later,  he  should  pose  as  an  animated 
Jericho  trumpet.  So,  biding  his  time,  he  bellowed, 
but  it  was  the  Comedie  Fran9aise  that  was  the  loser, 
not  the  people,  when  he  sailed  away  in  his  balloon, 
posed,  squatting  majestically  as  the  god  of  war  above 
the  clouds  of  battle.  And  little  Thiers,  furtive,  timid, 
delighting  in  senile  efforts  to  stir  the  ferment  of  chaos 
till  it  boiled,  he,  too,  was  there,  owl -like,  squeaky- 
voiced,  a  true  "Bombyx  a  Lunettes."  There,  too, 
was  Hugo  —  often  ridiculous  in  his  terrible  moods, 
egotistical,  sloppy,  roaring.  The  Empire  pinched 
Hugo,  and  he  roared ;  and  let  the  rest  of  the  world 
judge  whether,  under  such  circumstances,  there  was 
majesty  in  the  roar.  The  spectacle  of  Hugo,  prancing 
on  the  ramparts  and  hurling  bad  names  at  the  German 


THE   KEEPERS   OF  THE   HOUSE  185 

armies,  recalls  the  persistent  but  painful  manoeuvres 
of  a  lion  with  a  flea.  Both  are  terribly  in  earnest — 
neither  is  sublime. 

Jack  sat  leaning  on  the  window-ledge,  his  chin  on 
both  hands,  watching  the  moonlight  rippling  across 
the  sea  of  steel  below.  Lorraine,  also  silent,  buried  in 
an  arm-chair,  lay  huddled  somewhere  in  the  shadows, 
looking  up  at  the  stars,  scarcely  visible  in  the  radiance 
of  the  moon. 

After  a  while  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice :  "  Do  you 
remember  in  chapel  a  week  ago — what — " 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  Can  you  say  it — 
any  of  it  ?" 

""  Yes,  all." 

Presently  he  heard  her  voice  in  the  darkness  repeat 
ing  the  splendid  lines : 

"  *  In  the  days  when  the  keepers  of  the  house  shall 
tremble,  and  the  strong  men  shall  bow  themselves, 
and  the  grinders  cease  because  they  are  few,  and  they 
that  look  out  of  the  windows  be  darkened. 

*' '  And  the  doors  shall  be  shut  in  the  streets,  when 
the  sound  of  the  grinding  is  low,  and  they  shall  rise 
up  at  the  voice  of  a  bird,  and  all  the  daughters  of 
music  shall  be  brought  low. 

' ' '  Also  they  shall  be  afraid  of  that  which  is  high, 
and  fear  shall  be  in  the  way,  and  the  almond -tree 
shall  flourish,  and  the  grasshopper  shall  be  a  burden, 
and  desire  shall  fail. 

et '  Because  man  goeth  to  his  long  home — '" 

Her  voice  broke  a  little. 

"  '  And  the  mourners  go  about  the  streets — '  '* 

He  leaned  forward,  his  hand  stretched  out  in  the 
shadows.  After  a  moment  her  fingers  touched  his, 


186  LORRAINE  ! 

moved  a  little,  and  were  clasped  close.  Then  it  was 
that,  in  her  silence,  he  read  a  despair  too  deep,  too 
sudden,  too  stupefying  for  expression  —  a  despair 
scarcely  yet  understood.  A  sensitive  young  mind, 
stunned  by  realities  never  dreamed  of;  recovers  slow 
ly  ;  and  the  first  outward  evidence  of  returning  com 
prehension  is  an  out-stretched  hand,  a  groping  in  the 
shadows  for  the  hand  of  the  best  beloved.  Her  hand 
was  there,  out -stretched,  their  fingers  had  met  and 
interlaced.  A  great  lassitude  weighed  her  down, 
mind  and  body.  Yesterday  was  so  far  away,  and  to 
morrow  so  close  at  hand,  but  not  yet  close  enough  to 
arouse  her  from  an  apathy  unpierced  as  yet  by  the 
keen  shaft  of  grief. 

He  felt  the  lethargy  in  her  yielding  fingers ;  per 
haps  he  began  to  understand  the  sensitive  girl  lying 
in  the  arm-chair  beside  him,  perhaps  he  even  saw 
ahead  into  the  future  that  promised  everything  or 
nothing,  for  France,  for  her,  for  him. 

Madame  de  Morteyn  came  to  take  her  away,  but 
before  he  dropped  her  hand  in  the  shadows  he  felt  a 
pressure  that  said,  "Wait!"  —  so  he  waited,  there 
alone  in  the  darkness. 

The  bells  of  Saint-Lys  sounded  again,  scarcely  vi 
brating  in  the  still  air;  a  bank  of  sombre  cloud  buried 
the  moon,  and  put  out  the  little  stars  one  by  one 
until  the  blackness  of  the  night  crept  in,  blotting  out 
river  and  tree  and  hill,  hiding  the  silent  camp  in 
fathomless  shadow.  He  slept. 

When  he  awoke,  slowly,  confused  and  uncertain, 
he  found  her  close  to  him,  kneeling  on  the  floor,  her 
face  on  his  knees.  He  touched  her  arm,  fearfully, 
scarcely  daring ;  he  touched  her  hair,  falling  heavily 


THE   KEEPERS   OP  THE    HOUSE  187 

over  her  face  and  shoulders  and  across  his  knees.  Ah ! 
but  she  was  tired — her  very  soul  was  weary  and  sick ; 
and  she  was  too  young  to  bear  her  trouble.  There 
fore  she  came  back  to  him  who  had  reached  out  his 
hand  to  her.  She  could  not  cry — she  could  only  lie 
there  and  try  to  live  through  the  bitterness  of  her 
solitude.  For  now  she  knew  at  last  that  she  was 
alone  on  earth.  The  knowledge  had  come  in  a  mo 
ment,  it  had  come  with  the  first  trample  of  the  Prus 
sian  horsemen;  she  knew  that  her  love,  given  so 
wholly,  so  passionately,  was  nothing,  had  been  noth 
ing,  to  her  father.  He  whom  she  lived  for — was  it 
possible  that  he  could  abandon  her  in  such  an  hour  ? 
She  had  waited  all  day,  all  night ;  she  said  in  her 
heart  that  he  would  come  from  his  machines  and  his 
turret  to  be  with  her.  Together  they  could  have 
lived  through  the  shame  of  the  day — of  the  bitter 
days  to  come  ;  together  they  could  have  suffered, 
knowing  that  they  had  each  other  to  live  for. 

But  she  could  not  face  the  Prussian  scourge  alone — 
she  could  not.  These  two  truths  had  been  revealed 
to  her  with  the  first  tap  of  the  Prussian  drums :  that 
every  inch  of  soil,  every  grass-blade,  every  pebble  of 
her  land  was  dearer  to  her  than  life ;  and  that  her 
life  was  nothing  to  her  father.  He  who  alone  in 
all  the  world  could  have  stood  between  her  and  the 
shameful  pageant  of  invasion,  who  could  have  taught 
her  to  face  it,  to  front  it  nobly,  who  could  have  bid 
den  her  hope  and  pray  and  wait — he  sat  in  his  turret 
turning  little  wheels  while  the  whole  land  shook  with 
the  throes  of  invasion — their  native  land,  Lorraine. 

The  death  -  throes  of  a  nation  are  felt  by  all  the 
world.  Bismarck  placed  a  steel-clad  hand  upon  the 


188  LORRAINE  ! 

pulse  of  France,  and  knew  Lorraine  lay  dying.  Am 
putation  would  end  all — Moltke  had  the  apparatus 
ready ;  Bismarck,  the  great  surgeon  and  greater  exe 
cutioner,  sat  with  mailed  hand  on  the  pulse  of  France 
and  waited. 

The  girl,  Lorraine,  too,  knew  the  crisis  had  come — 
sensitive  prophetess  in  all  that  she  held  sacred  !  She 
had  never  prayed  for  the  Emperor,  but  she  always 
prayed  for  France  when  she  asked  forgiveness  night 
and  morning.  At  confession  she  had  accused  her 
self  sometimes  because  she  could  not  understand 
the  deeper  meaning  of  this  daily  prayer,  but  now 
she  understood  it ;  the  fierce  love  for  native  soil 
that  blazes  up  when  that  soil  is  stamped  upon  and 
spurned. 

All  the  devotion,  all  the  tender  adoration,  that  she 
had  given  her  father  turned  now  to  bitter  grief  for 
this  dear  land  of  hers.  It,  at  least,  had  been  her 
mother,  her  comforter,  her  consolation ;  and  there  it 
lay  before  her — it  called  to  her ;  she  responded  pas 
sionately,  and  gave  it  all  her  love.  So  she  lay  there 
in  the  dark,  her  hot  face  buried  in  her  hands,  close  to 
one  whom  she  needed  and  who  needed  her. 

He  was  too  wise  to  speak  or  move ;  he  loved  her 
too  much  to  touch  again  the  hair,  flung  heavily  across 
her  face  —  to  touch  her  flushed  brow,  her  clasped 
hands,  her  slender  body,  delicate  and  warm,  firm  yet 
yielding.  He  waited  for  the  tears  to  come.  And 
when  they  fell,  one  by  one,  great,  hot  drops,  they 
brought  no  relief  until  she  told  him  all — all — her  last 
and  inmost  hope  and  fear. 

Then  when  her  white  soul  lay  naked  in  all  its  inno 
cence  before  him,  and  when  the  last  word  had  been 


THE  KEEPERS  OF  THE  HOUSE  189 

said,  he  raised  her  head  and  searched  in  her  pure 
eyes  for  one  message  of  love  for  himself. 

It  was  not  there  ;  and  the  last  word  had  been  said. 

And,,  even  as  he  looked,  holding  her  there  almost 
in  his  arms,  the  Prussian  trumpets  clanged  from  the 
dim  meadows  and  the  drums  thundered  on  the  hills, 
and  the  invading  army  roused  itself  at  the  dawn  of 
another  day, 


XVIII 

r 

THE   STRETCHING   OF   KECKS 

FOR  two  days  and  nights  the  German  army  passed 
through  Morteyn  and  Saint -Lys,  on  the  march  tow 
ards  Metz.  All  day  long  the  hills  struck  back  the 
echoes  of  their  flat  brass  drums,  and  shook  with  the 
shock  of  armed  squadrons,,  tramping  on  into  the  west. 
Interminable  trains  of  wagons  creaked  along  the  sandy 
Saint- Avoid  road;  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive  was 
heard  again  at  Saint-Lys,  where  the  Bavarians  had  es 
tablished  a  base  of  supplies  and  were  sending  their  end 
less,  multicoloured  trains  puffing  away  towards  Saar- 
briick  for  provisions  and  munitions  of  war  that  had  ar 
rived  there  from  Cologne.  Generals  with  their  staffs, 
serious,  civil  fellows,  with  anxious,  near-sighted  eyes, 
stopped  at  the  Chateau  and  were  courteously  endured, 
only  to  be  replaced  by  others  equally  polite  and  se 
rious.  And  regularly,  after  each  batch  left  with  their 
marching  regiments,  there  came  back  to  the  Chateau 
by  courier,- the  same  evening,  a  packet  of  visiting-cards 
and  a  polite  letter  signed  by  all  the  officers  entertained, 
thanking  the  Vicomte  and  Madame  de  Morteyn  for 
their  hospitality. 

At  last,  on  the  10th  of  August,  about  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  the  last  squadron  of  the  rear -guard 
cantered  over  the  hills  west  of  Morteyn,  and  the  last 


THE  STRETCHING  OP  NECKS  191 

straggling  Uhlan  followed  after,  twirling  his  long 
lance. 

Every  day  Lorraine  had  watched  and  waited  for  one 
word  from  her  father  ;  every  day  Jack  had  ridden 
over  to  the  Chateau  de  Nesville,  but  the  marquis  re 
fused  to  see  him  or  to  listen  to  any  message,  nor  did 
he  send  any  to  Lorraine. 

Old  Pierre  told  Jack  that  no  Germans  had  visited 
the  Chateau  ;  that  the  marquis  was  busy  all  day  with 
his  machinery,  and  never  left  his  turret  except  to  eat 
at  daylight  in  the  grand  salon  below.  He  also  inti 
mated  that  his  master  was  about  ready  to  make  an 
other  ascension  in  the  new  balloon,  which,  old  Pierre 
affirmed,  had  a  revolving  screw  at  either  side  of  the 
wicker  car,  like  a  ship  ;  and,  like  a  ship,  it  could  be 
steered  with  perfect  ease.  He  even  took  Jack  to  a 
little  stone  structure  that  stood  in  a  meadow,  sur 
rounded  by  trees.  In  there,  according  to  Pierre,  stood 
this  marvellous  balloon,  not  yet  inflated,  of  course. 
That  was  only  a  matter  of  five  seconds  ;  a  handful  of 
the  silver  dust  placed  at  the  aperture  of  the  silken 
bag,  a  drop  of  pure  water  touched  to  it,  and,  puff ! 
the  silver  dust  turns  to  vapour  and  the  balloon  swells 
out  tight  and  full. 

Jack  had  peeped  into  the  barred  window  and  had 
seen  the  wicker  car  of  the  balloon  standing  on  the 
cement  floor,  filled  with  the  folded  silken  covering 
for  the  globe  of  the  balloon.  He  could  just  make  out, 
on  either  side  of  the  car,  two  twisted  twin  screws, 
wrought  out  of  some  dull  oxidized  metal.  On  return 
ing  to  Morteyn  that  evening  he  had  told  Lorraine. 

She  explained  that  the  screws  were  made  of  a  metal 
called  aluminum,  rare  then,  because  so  difficult  to  ex- 


192  LORRAINE  ! 

tract  from  its  combining  substances,  and  almost  use 
less  on  account  of  its  being  impossible  to  weld.  Her 
father,  however,  had  found  a  way  to  utilize  it — how, 
she  did  not  know.  If  this  ascension  proved  a  suc 
cess  the  French  government  would  receive  the  balloon 
and  the  secret  of  the  steering  and  propelling  gear, 
along  with  the  formula  for  the  silvery  dust  used  to 
inflate  it.  Even  she  understood  what  a  terrible  engine 
of  Avar  such  an  aerial  ship  might  be,  from  which  two 
men  could  blow  up  fortress  after  fortress  and  city 
after  city  when  and  where  they  chose.  Armies  could 
be  annihilated,  granite  and  steel  would  be  as  tinder 
before  a  bomb  or  torpedo  of  picric  acid  dropped  from 
the  clouds. 

On  the  10th  of  August,  a  little  after  five  o'clock, 
Jack  left  Lorraine  on  the  terrace  at  Morteyn  to  try 
once  more  to  see  the  marquis — for  Lorraine's  sake. 

He  turned  to  the  west,  where  the  last  Uhlan  of  the 
rear-guard  was  disappearing  over  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
brandishing  his  pennoned  lance-tip  in  the  late  rays  of 
the  low-hanging  sun. 

"  G-ood-by,"  he  said,  smiling  up  at  her  from  the 
steps.  "  Don't  worry,  please  don't.  Remember  your 
father  is  well,  and  is  working  for  France." 

He  spoke  of  the  marquis  as  her  father ;  he  always 
should  as  long  as  she  lived.  He  said,  too,  that  the 
marquis  was  labouring  for  France.  So  he  was  ;  but 
France  would  never  see  the  terrible  war  engine,  nor 
know  the  secrets  of  its  management,  as  long  as  Napo 
leon  III.  was  struggling  to  keep  his  family  in  the  high 
places  of  France. 

"  Good-bj,"  he  said  again.  "  I  shall  be  back  by 
sundown." 


THE  STRETCHING  OF  NECKS  198 

Lorraine  leaned  over  the  terrace,  looking  down  at 
him  with  blue,  fathomless  eyes. 

<f  By  sundown  ?" 

"Yes." 

«  Truly  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Tiens  ta  Foy." 

"  Always,  Lorraine." 

She  did  not  chide  him ;  she  longed  to  call  him 
Jack,  bat  it  stuck  in  her  white  throat  when  she  tried. 

"  If  you  do  not  come  back  by  sundown,  then  I  shall 
know  you  cannot,"  she  said. 

"But  I  shall." 

"Yes,  I  believe  it." 

"  Come  after  me  if  I  don't  return,"  he  laughed,  as 
he  descended  the  steps. 

"  I  shall,  if  you  break  your  faith,"  she  smiled. 

She  watched  him  out  of  sight — he  was  going  on 
foot  this  time — then  the  trees  hid  him,  and  she  turned 
back  into  the  house,  where  Madame  de  Morteyn  was 
preparing  to  close  the  Chateau  for  the  winter  and 
return  to  Paris. 

It  was  the  old  vicomte  who  had  decided ;  he  had 
stayed  and  faced  the  music  as  long  as  there  was  any 
to  face — Prussian  music,  too.  But  now  the  Prus 
sians  had  passed  on  towards  Metz — towards  Paris, 
also,  perhaps,  and  he  wished  to  be  there ;  it  was  too 
sad  in  the  autumn  of  Lorraine. 

He  had  aged  fearfully  in  the  last  four  days  ;  he  was 
in  truth  an  old  man  now.  Even  he  knew  it — he  who 
had  never  before  acknowledged  age  ;  but  he  felt  it  at 
night ;  for  it  is  when  day  is  ended  that  the  old  com 
prehend  how  old  they  are. 

13 


194  LORRAINE  I 

This  was  to  be  Lorraine's  last  night  at  Morteyn;  in 
the  morning  Jack  was  to  drive  her  back  to  her  father 
and  then  return  to  Morteyn  to  accompany  his  uncle 
and  aunt  to  Paris.  The  old  people  once  settled  in 
Paris  with  Dorothy  and  Betty  Castlemaine,  and  sur 
rounded  by  friends  again,  Jack  would  take  leave  of 
them  and  return  to  Morteyn  with  one  servant.  This 
he  had  promised  Lorraine,  and  she  had  not  said  no. 
His  aunt  also  wished  it,  but  she  did  not  think  it  time 
yet  to  tell  the  vicomte. 

The  servants,  with  the  exception  of  one  maid  and 
the  coachman,  had  gone  in  the  morning,  by  way  of 
Vigny,  with  the  luggage.  The  vicomte  and  his  wife 
were  to  travel  by  carriage  to  Passy-le-Sel,  and  from 
there,  via  Belfort,  if  the  line  were  open,  to  Paris  by 
rail.  Jack,  it  had  been  arranged,  was  to  ride  to  Bel- 
fort  on  horseback,  and  join  the  old  people  there  for 
the  journey  to  Paris. 

So  Lorraine  turned  back  into  the  silent  house,  where 
the  furniture  stood  in  its  stiff,  white  dust-coverings, 
where  cloths  covered  candelabra  and  mirror,  and  the 
piano  was  bare  of  embroidered  scarfs. 

She  passed  through  darkened  rooms,  one  after 
another,  through  the  long  hall,  where  no  servants 
remained,  through  the  ballroom  and  dining-room, 
and  out  into  the  conservatory,  emptied  of  every 
palm.  She  passed  on  across  the  interior  court,  through 
the  servants7  wicket,  and  out  to  the  stables.  All  the 
stalls  save  one  were  empty.  Faust  stood  in  that 
one  stall  switching  his  tail  and  peering  around  at 
her  with  wise,  dark  eyes.  Then  she  kissed  his  soft 
nose,  and  went  sadly  back  to  the  house,  only  to  roam 
over  it  again  from  terrace  to  roof,  never  meeting  a 


THE  STRETCHING  OP  NECKS  195 

living  soul,  never  hearing  a  sound  except  when  she 
passed  the  vicomte's  suite,  where  Madame  de  Mor- 
teyn  and  the  maid  were  arranging  last  details  and 
the  old  vicomte  lay  asleep  in  his  worn  arm-chair. 

There  was  one  room  she  had  not  visited,  one  room 
in  which  she  had  never  set  foot,  never  even  peeped 
into.  That  was  Jack's  room.  And  now,  by  an  im 
pulse  she  could  not  understand,  her  little  feet  led 
her  up  the  stairway,  across  the  broad  landing,  through 
the  gun-room,  and  there  to  the  door — his  door.  It 
was  open.  She  glided  in. 

There  was  a  faint  odour  of  tobacco  in  the  room,  a 
smell  of  leather,  too.  That  came  from  the  curb-bit 
and  bridle  hanging  on  the  wall,  or  perhaps  from  the 
plastron,  foils,  and  gauntlets  over  the  mantle.  Pipes 
lay  about  in  profusion,  mixed  with  silver  -  backed 
brushes,  cigar  -  boxes,  neckties,  riding  -  crops,  and 
gloves. 

She  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  bed,  looked  at  her  wide, 
bright  eyes  in  the  mirror  opposite,  flushed,  hesitated, 
bent  swiftly,  and  touched  the  white  pillow  with  her 
lips. 

For  a  second  she  knelt  there  where  he  might  have 
knelt,  morning  and  evening,  then  slipped  to  her  feet, 
turned,  and  was  gone. 

At  sundown  Jack  returned,  animated,  face  faintly 
touched  with  red  from  his  three-mile  walk.  He  had 
seen  the  marquis ;  more,  too,  he  had  seen  the  balloon 
—he  liad  examined  it,  stood  in  the  wicker  car,  tested 
t.ho  rJuininum  screws.  He  brought  back  a  message 
for  Lorraine,  affectionate  and  kindly,  asking  for  her 
return  home  early  the  next  morning. 

"  If  we  do  not  iind  you  at  Belfort  to-morrow,"  said 


196  LORRAINE  I 

Madame  de  Morteyn,  seriously,  "we  shall  not  wait. 
We  shall  go  straight  on  to  Paris.  The  house  is  ready 
to  be  locked,  everything  is  in  perfect  order,  and  really, 
Jack,  there  is  no  necessity  for  your  coming.  Perhaps 
Lorraine's  father  may  ask  you  to  stay  there  for  a  few 
days." 

"  He  has,"  said  Jack,  growing  a  trifle  pink. 

"  Then  you  need  not  come  to  Belfort  at  all,"  in 
sisted  his  aunt.  Jack  protested  that  he  could  not  let 
them  go  to  Paris  alone. 

"But  I've  sent  Faust  on  already,"  said  Madame  de 
Morteyn,  smiling. 

' '  Then  the  Marquis  de  Nesville  will  lend  me  a 
horse  ;  you  can't  keep  me  away  like  that,"  said  Jack ; 
"I  will  drive  Mademoiselle  de  Nesviile  to  her  home 
and  then  come  on  horseback  and  meet  you  at  Belfort, 
us  I  said  I  would." 

"  We  won't  count  on  you,"  said  his  aunt ;  "  if  you're 
riot  there  when  the  train  comes,  your  uncle  and  I  will 
abandon  you  to  the  mercy  of  Lorraine." 

t(  I  shall  send  him  on  by  freight,"  said  Lorraine, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  Fm  going  back  to  the  Chateau  de  Nesville  to-night 
for  an  hoar  or  two,"  observed  Jack,  finishing  his 
Moselle  ;  "  the  marquis  wanted  me  to  help  him  on  the 
last  touches.  He  makes  an  ascent  to-morrow  noon." 

"  Take  a  lantern,  then,"  said  Madame  de  Morteyn  ; 
"  don't  you  want  Jules,  too — if  you're  going  on  foot 
through  the  forest  ?" 

"  Don't  want  Jules,  and  the  squirrels  won't  eat  me," 
laughed  Jack,  looking  across  at  Lorraine.  He  was 
thinking  of  that  first  dash  in  the  night  together,  she 
riding  with  the  fury  of  a  storm-witch,  her  ball-gown 


THE   STBETCHING    OF  NECKS  197 

in  ribbons,  her  splendid  hair  flashing,  he  galloping  at 
her  stirrup,  patting  his  horse  at  a  dark  figure  that 
rose  in  their  path  ;  and  then  the  collision,  the  trample, 
the  shots  in  the  dark,  and  her  round  white  shoulder 
seared  with  the  bullet  mark. 

She  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  and  asked  him  how 
soon  he  was  going  to  start. 

"Now/7  he  said. 

"  You  will  perhaps  wait  until  your  old  aunt  rises," 
said  Madame  de  Morteyn,  and  she  kissed  him  on  the 
cheek.  He  helped  her  from  her  chair  and  led  her 
from  the  room,  the  vicomte  following  with  Lorraine. 

Ten  min  ites  later  he  was  ready  to  start,  and  again 
he  promise  i  Lorraine  to  return  at  eleven  o'clock. 

"  <  Tier    ta  Foy/  "  she  repeated. 

"Alws  s,  Lorraine." 

The  night  was  starless.  As  he  stood  there  on  the 
terrace  swinging  his  lantern,  he  looked  back  at  her, 
up  into  her  eyes.  And  as  he  looked  she  bent  down, 
impulsively  stretching  out  both  arms  and  whispering, 
"At  eleven — you  have  promised,  Jack." 

At  last  his  name  had  fallen  from  her  lips  —  had 
slipped  from  them  easily  —  sweet  as  the  lips  that 
breathed  it. 

He  tried  to  answer  ;  he  could  not,  for  his  heart  beat 
in  his  throat.  But  he  took  her  two  hands  and  crushed 
them  together  and  kissed  the  soft,  warm  palms,  pas 
sive  under  his  lips.  That  was  all — a  touch,  a  glimpse 
of  his  face  half  lit  by  the  lantern  swinging  ;  and  again 
she  called,  softly,  "Jack,  'Tiens  ta  Foy!'"  And  he 
was  gone. 

The  distance  to  the  Chateau  de  Nesville  was  three 
miles  ;  it  might  have  been  three  feet  for  all  Jack  knew, 

14 


198  LORRAINE  1 

moving  through  the  forest,  swinging  his  lantern,  hta 
eyes  on  the  dim  trees  towering  into  the  blackness 
overhead,  his  mind  on  Lorraine.  Where  the  lantern- 
light  fell  athwart  rugged  trunks,  he  saw  her  face; 
where  the  tall  shadows  wavered  and  shook,  her  eyes 
met  his.  Her  voice  was  in  the  forest  rumour,  the  low 
rustle  of  leafy  undergrowth,  the  whisper  of  waters 
flowing  under  silent  leaves. 

Already  the  gray  wall  of  the  park  loomed  up  in  the 
east,  already  the  gables  and  single  turret  of  the  Chateau 
grew  from  the  shadows  and  took  form  between  the 
meshed  branches  of  the  trees. 

The  grille  swung  wide  open,  but  the  porter  was  not 
there.  He  walked  on,  hastening  a  little,  c:  ossed  the 
lawn  by  the  summer  arbour,  and  approached  t  e  house. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  turret,  but  the  re  t  of  the 
house  was  dark.  As  he  reached  the  porch  and  looked 
into  the  black  hallway,  a  slight  noise  in  the  dining- 
room  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  he  opened  the  door  and 
went  in.  The  dining-room  was  dark ;  he  set  his  ex 
tinguished  lantern  on  the  table  and  lighted  a  lamp  by 
the  window,  saying:  "Pierre,  tell  the  marquis  I  am 
here — tell  him  I  am  to  return  to  Morteyn  by  eleven — 
Pierre,  do  you  hear  me  ?  Where  are  you,  then  ?" 

He  raised  his  head  instinctively,  his  hand  on  the 
lamp -globe.  Pierre  was  not  there,  but  something 
moved  in  the  darkness  outside  the  window,  and  he 
went  to  the  door. 

se  Pierre  !"  he  called  again ;  and  at  the  same  instant 
an  Uhlan  struck  him  with  his  lance  -  butt  across  the 

temples. 

******* 

How  long  it  was  before  he  opened  his  eyes  he  coakl 


THE   STRETCHING   OP  NECKS  199 

not  tell.  He  found  himself  lying  on  the  ground  in  a 
meadow  surrounded  by  trees.  A  camp-fire  flickered 
near,  lighting  the  gray  side  of  the  little  stone  house 
where  the  balloon  was  kept. 

There  were  sounds — deep,  guttural  voices  raised  in 
dispute  or  threats ;  he  saw  a  group  of  shadowy  men, 
swaying,  pushing,  crowding  under  the  trees.  The 
firelight  glimmered  on  a  gilt  button  here  and  there, 
on  a  sabre-hilt,  on  polished  schapskas  and  gold-sca^d 
chin-guards.  The  knot  of  struggling  figures  sue1  aen- 
ly  widened  out  into  a  half-circle,  then  came  a  quick 
command,  a  cry  in  French — "  Ah  !  God  !" — and  some 
thing  shot  up  into  the  air  and  hung  from  a  tree, 
dangling,  full  in  the  firelight. 

It  was  the  writhing  body  of  a  man. 

Jack  turned  his  head  away,  then  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands.  Beside  him  a  tall  Uhlan,  swathed 
to  the  eyes  in  his  great-coat,  leaned  on  a  lance  and 
smoked  in  silence. 

Suddenly  a  voice  broke  out  in  the  night :  "Links  ! 
vorwarts  !"  There  came  a  regular  tramp  of  feet — one, 
two !  one,  two ! — across  the  grass,  past  the  fire,  and 
straight  to  where  Jack  sat,  his  face  in  his  arms. 

The  bright  glare  of  lanterns  dazzled  him  as  he  looked 
np,  but  he  saw  a  line  of  men  with  bared  sabres  stand 
ing  to  his  right — tall  Uhlans,  buttoned  to  the  chin  in 
their  sombre  overcoats,  helmet-cords  oscillating  in  the 
lantern  glow. 

Another  Uhlan,  standing  erect  before  him,  had  been 
speaking  for  a  second  or  two  before  he  even  heard 
him. 

"  Prisoner,  do  you  understand  German  ?"  repeated 
the  UJilim,  harshly, 


200  LORRAINE  ! 

' '  Yes/'  muttered  Jack.  He  began  to  shiver,  per 
haps  from  the  chill  of  the  wet  earth. 

"Stand  up!" 

Jack  stumbled  to  his  numbed  feet.  A  drop  of  blood 
rolled  into  his  eye  and  he  mechanically  wiped  it  away. 
He  tried  to  look  at  the  man  before  him ;  he  could  not, 
for  his  fascinated  eyes  returned  to  that  thing  that  hung 
on  a  rope  from  the  great  sprawling  oak-branch  at  the 
edge  of  the  grove. 

LL'9  a  vague  voice  in  a  dream  he  heard  his  own 
name  pronounced ;  he  heard  a  sonorous  formula  re 
peated  in  a  heavy,  dispassionate  voice — "accused  of 
having  resisted  a  picquet  of  his  Prussian  Majesty's 
llth  Regiment  of  Uhlan  cavalry,  of  having  wilfully, 
maliciously,  and  with  murderous  design  fired  upon 
and  wounded  trooper  Kohlmann  of  said  picquet  while 
in  pursuit  of  his  duty." 

Again  he  heard  the  same  voice :  (( The  law  of  non- 
combatants  operating  in  such  cases  leaves  no  doubt 
as  to  the  just  penalty  due." 

Jack  straightened  up  and  looked  the  officer  in  the 
eyes.  Ah  !  now  he  knew  him — the  map-maker  of  the 
carref  our,  the  sneak-thief  who  had  scaled  the  park  wall 
with  the  box — that  was  the  face  he  had  struck  with 
his  clenched  fist,  the  same  pink,  high-boned  face,  with 
the  little,  pale,  pig-like  eyes.  In  the  same  second  the 
man's  name  came  back  to  him  as  he  had  deciphered 
it  written  in  pencil  on  the  maps — Siurd  von  Steyr  ! 

Von  Steyr's  eyes  grew  smaller  and  paler,  and  an 
ugly  flush  mounted  to  his  scarred  cheek-bone.  But 
his  voice  was  dispassionate  and  harsh  as  ever  when 
he  said :  "  The  prisoner  Marche  is  at  liberty  to  con 
front  witnesses.  Trooper  Kohlmann  I" 


THE   STRETCHING    OF  NECKS  201 

There  he  stood,  the  same  blond,  bony  Uhlan  whom. 
Jack  had  tumbled  into  the  dust,  the  same  colourless 
giant  whom  he  had  dragged  with  trailing  spurs  across 
the  road  to  the  tree. 

From  his  pouch  the  soldier  produced  Jack's  silver 
flask,  with  his  name  engraved  on  the  bottom,  his  pipe, 
still  half  full  of  tobacco,  just  as  he  had  dropped  it 
when  the  field-glasses  told  him  that  Uhlans,  not 
French  lancers,  were  coming  down  the  hill-side. 

One  by  one  three  other  Uhlans  advanced  from  the 
motionless  ranks,  saluted,  briefly  identified  the  prison 
er,  and  stepped  back  again. 

"  Have  you  any  statement  to  make  ?"  demanded 
Von  Steyr. 

Jack's  teeth  were  clenched,  his  throat  contracted, 
he  was  choking.  Everything  around  him  swam  in 
darkness  —  a  darkness  lit  by  little  flames ;  his  veins 
seemed  bursting.  He  was  in  their  midst  now,  shoul 
dered  and  shoved  across  the  grass ;  their  hot  breath 
fell  on  his  face,  their  hands  crushed  his  arms,  bent 
back  his  elbows,  pushed  him  forward,  faster,  faster, 
towards  the  tree  where  that  thing  hung,  turning 
slowly  as  a  squid  spins  on  a  swivel. 

It  was  the  grating  of  the  rope  on  his  throat  that 
crushed  the  first  cry  out  of  him :  "Von  Steyr,  shoot 
me  !  For  the  love  of  God  I  Not— not  this — " 

He  was  struggling  now — he  set  his  teeth  and  struck 
furiously.  The  crowd  seemed  to  increase  about  him ; 
now  there  was  a  mounted  man  in  their  midst — more 
mounted  men,  shouting. 

The  rope  suddenly  tightened ;  the  blood  pounded 
in  his  cheeks,  in  his  temples,  his  tongue  seemed  to 
split  open.  Then  he  got  his  fingers  between  the 


508  LOREATNB  I 

noose  and  his  neck ;  now  the  thing  loosened  and  he 
pitched  forward,  but  kept  his  feet. 

"  Gott  verdammt  I"  roared  a  voice  above  him ;  "  Von 
Steyr  ! — here  !  get  back  there  ! — get  back  I" 

"Rickerl  I"  gasped  Jack— "  tell— tell  them— they 
must  shoot — not  hang — " 

He  stood  glaring  at  the  soldiers  before  him,  face 
bloody  and  distorted,  the  rope  trailing  from  one 
clenched  hand.  Breathless,  haggard,  he  planted  his 
heels  in  the  turf,  and,  dropping  the  noose,  set  one 
foot  on  it.  All  around  him  horsemen  crowded  up, 
lances  slung  from  their  elbows,  helmets  nodding  as 
the  restive  horses  wheeled. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  he  saw  the  Marquis  de 
Nesville,  face  like  a  death-mask,  one  hand  on  the 
edge  of  the  wicker  balloon-car,  which  stood  in  the 
midst  of  a  circle  of  cavalry. 

"  This  is  not  the  place  nor  is  this  the  time  to  judge 
your  prisoners,"  said  Rickerl,  pushing  his  horse  up 
to  Von  Steyr  and  scowling  down  into  his  face.  "Who 
called  this  drum-head  court  ?  Is  that  your  province  ? 
Oh,  in  my  absence  ?  Well,  then,  I  am  here  !  Do  you 
see  me  ?" 

The  insult  fell  like  the  sting  of  a  lash  across  Von 
Steyr's  face.  He  saluted,  and,  looking  straight  into 
Kickerl's  eyes,  said,  ( '  Zum  Befehl,  Herr  Hauptmann  ! 
I  am  at  your  convenience  also/' 

ff  When  you  please  I"  shouted  Rickerl,  crimson  with 
fury.  "  Retire  1" 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  scarcely 
had  he  backed  his  startled  horse,  when  there  came  a 
sound  of  a  crushing:  blow,  a  groan,  and  a  soldier  stag 
gered  back  from  the  balloon -car,  ms  hands  to  his 


THE   STRETCHING  OP  NECKg  208 

head,  where  the  shattered  helmet  hung  by  one  torn 
gilt  cord.  In  the  same  instant  the  marquis,  dishev 
elled,,  white  as  a  corpse,  rose  from  the  wicker  car, 
shaking  his  steel  box  above  his  head.  Then,  through 
the  ring  of  nervous,  quivering  horses  the  globe  of  the 
balloon  appeared  as  by  magic — an  enormous,  looming, 
yellow  sphere,  tense,  glistening,  gigantic. 

The  horses  reared,  snorting  with  fright,  the  Uhlans 
clung  to  their  saddles,  shouting  and  cursing,  and  the 
huge  balloon,  swaying  from  its  single  rope,  pounded 
and  bounced  from  side  to  side,  knocking  beast  and 
man  into  a  chaotic  mass  of  frantic  horses  and  panic- 
stricken  riders. 

With  a  report  like  a  pistol  the  rope  parted,  the 
great  globe  bounded  and  shot  up  into  the  air ;  a  tu 
mult  of  harsh  shouts  arose  ;  the  crazed  horses  backed, 
plunged,  and  scattered,  some  falling,  some  bolting 
into  the  undergrowth,  some  rearing  and  swaying  in 
an  ecstasy  of  terror. 

The  troopers,  helpless,  gnashing  their  teeth,  shook 
their  long  lances  towards  the  sky,  where  the  moon 
was  breaking  from  the  banked  clouds,  and  the  loom 
ing  balloon  hung  black  above  the  forest,  drifting  slow 
ly  westward. 

And  now  Von  Steyr  had  a  weapon  in  his  hands  — 
not  a  carbine,  but  a  long  chassepot- rifle,  a  relic  of 
the  despoiled  franc  -  tireur,  dangling  from  the  oak- 
tree. 

Some  one  shouted,  "It's  loaded  with  explosive 
bullets  r 

"  Then  drop  it  I"  roared  Rickerl.     "  For  shame  I" 

The  crash  of  the  rifle  drowned  his  voice. 

The  balloon's  shadowy  bulk  above  the  forest  was 


204  LORRAINE  ! 

belted  by  a  blue  line  of  light ;  the  globe  contracted, 
a  yellow  glare  broke  out  in  the  sky.  Then  far  away 
a  light  report  startled  the  sudden  stillness;  a  dark 
spot,  suspended  in  mid -air,  began  to  fall,  swiftly, 
more  swiftly,  dropping  through  the  night  between 
sky  and  earth. 

"  You  damned  coward  I"  stammered  Eickerl,  point 
ing  a  shaking  hand  at  Von  Steyr. 

"  God  keep  you  when  our  sabres  meet  V  said  Von 
Steyr,  between  his  teeth. 

Eickerl  burst  into  an  angry  laugh. 

"  Where  is  your  prisoner  ?"  he  cried. 

Von  Steyr  stared  around  him,  right  and  left — Jack 
was  gone. 

"  Let  others  prefer  charges,"  said  Eickerl,  con 
temptuously — "if  you  escape  my  sabre  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Let  them/'  said  Von  Steyr,  quietly,  but  his  face 
worked  convulsively. 

"  Second  platoon  dismount  to  search  for  escaped 
prisoner  !"  he  cried.  "  Open  order  !  Forward  !" 


XIX 

BICKERI/S    SABRE 

JACK,  lying  full  length  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
listened  fearfully  for  the  sounds  of  the  human  pack 
on  his  heels.  The  blackness  was  stupefying ;  the 
thud  of  his  own  heart  seemed  to  fill  the  shrouded 
forest  like  the  roll  of  a  muffled  drum.  Presently  he 
crept  on  again,  noiselessly,  painfully,  closing  his  eyes 
when  the  invisible  twigs  brushed  his  face. 

He  did  not  know  where  he  was  going,  he  only 
thought  of  getting  away,  anywhere — away  from  that 
hangman's  rope. 

Again  he  rested,  suffocated  by  the  tumult  in  his 
breast,  burning  with  thirst.  For  a  long  while  he  lay 
listening.;  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the  night.  Little 
by  little  his  coolness  returned ;  he  thought  of  Lor 
raine  and  his  promise,  and  he  knew  that  now  he  could 
not  keep  it.  He  thought,  too,  of  the  marquis,  never 
doubting  the  terrible  fate  of  the  half -crazed  man. 
He  had  seen  him  stun  the  soldier  with  a  blow  of  the 
steel  box,  he  had  seen  the  balloon  shoot  up  into  the 
midnight  sky,  he  had  heard  the  shot  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  glare  of  the  burning  balloon.  Some 
where  in  the  forest  the  battered  body  of  the  marquis 
lay  in  the  wreck  of  the  shattered  car.  The  steel  box,  too, 
lay  there — the  box  that  was  so  precious  to  the  Germans. 


206  LORRAINE  ! 

He  rose  to  his  knees,  felt  around  among  the  under 
brush,  bent  his  head  and  crept  on,  parting  leaves  and 
branches  with  one  hand,  holding  the  other  over  his 
eyes.  The  thought  that  he  might  be  moving  in  a 
circle  filled  him  with  fear.  But  that  was  exactly  what 
he  was  doing,  for  now  he  found  himself  close  to  the 
park  wall ;  and,  listening,  he  heard  the  river  mur 
muring  among  the  alders.  He  halted,  utterly  at  a 
loss.  If  he  were  caught  again  could  Rickerl  save  him  ? 
What  could  a  captain  of  Uhlans  do  ?  True,  he  had 
interfered  with  Von  Steyr's  hangman's  work,  but  that 
was  nothing  but  a  reprieve  at  best. 

The  murmur  of  the  river  filled  his  ears ;  his  hot 
throat  was  cracking.  Drink  he  must,  at  any  rate,  and 
he  started  on  in  the  darkness,  moving  stealthily  over 
the  moss.  The  water  was  closer  than  he  had  imag 
ined  ;  he  bent  above  it,  first  touching  it  with  groping 
hands,  then  noiselessly  bathed  his  feverish  face  in  the 
dark  stream,  drinking  his  fill. 

He  longed  to  follow  the  shallow  stream,  wading  to 
Morteyn,  but  he  dared  not  risk  it ;  so  he  went  along 
the  bank  as  far  as  he  could,  trying  to  keep  within 
sound  of  the  waters,  until  again  he  found  himself 
close  to  the  park  wall.  The  stream  had  vanished 
again. 

Dawn  began  to  gray  the  forest ;  little  by  little  the 
nearest  trees  grew  from  the  darkness,  and  bushes  took 
vague  shapes  in  the  gloom.  He  strained  his  eyes, 
peering  at  every  object  near  him,  striving  to  recog 
nize  stones,  saplings,  but  he  could  not.  Even  when 
dawn  at  last  came  up  out  of  the  east,  and  the  thick 
ets  grew  distinct,  he  did  not  know  where  he  was.  A 
line  of  vapour  through  the  trees  marked  the  course 


BfCKERL's    SABRE  307 

of  the  little  river.  "Which  way  was  it  flowing  ?  Even 
that  he  eould  not  tell.  He  looked  in  vain  for  the 
park  wall ;  that  had  vanished  utterly  with  the  dawn. 
Very  cautiously  he  advanced  over  the  deep  forest 
mould  to  the  willow  -  fringed  bank  of  the  stream. 
The  current  was  flowing  east.  Where  was  he  ?  He 
parted  the  willows  and  looked  out,  and  at  the  same 
instant  an  Uhlan  saw  him  and  shouted. 

Eunning  swiftly  through  the  trees,  head  lowered, 
hands  clenched,  he  heard  the  sound  of  galloping  on 
a  soft  road  that  seemed  to  run  through  the  forest, 
parallel  to  his  own  course.  Then,  as  he  bore  has 
tily  to  the  right  and  plunged  into  the  deeper -under 
growth,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Chateau  close  by 
through  the  trees.  Horrified  to  find  himself  back  at 
the  place  from  which  he  had  started,  he  doubled  in 
his  tracks,  ran  on,  stooping  low,  splashed  into  the 
stream  and  across,  and  plunged  up  to  the  shoulders 
through  the  tall  weeds  and  bushes  until  again  he  felt 
the  forest  leaves  beneath  his  feet. 

The  sudden  silence  around  him  was  disconcerting. 
Where  had  the  Uhlan  gone  ?  He  ran  on,  making 
straight  for  the  depths  of  the  woods,  for  he  knew 
now  where  he  was,  and  in  which  direction  safety  lay. 

After  a  while  his  breath  and  legs  gave  out  together, 
and  he  leaned  against  a  beech-tree,  his  hands  pressed 
to  his  mouth,  where  the  breath  struggled  for  expul 
sion.  And,  as  he  leaned  there,  two  Uhlans,  mounted, 
lances  advanced,  came  picking  their  way  among  the 
trees,  turning  their  heads  cautiously  from  side  to 
side.  Behind  these  two  rode  six  others,  apparently 
unarmed,  two  abreast.  He  saw  at  once  that  noth 
ing  could  save  him,  for  they  were  making  straight 


208  LORRAINE  ! 

for  his  beech-tree.  In  that  second  of  snspense  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  fighting,  for  he  knew  what 
capture  meant.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  foremost 
Uhlan,  and  waited.  When  the  Uhlan  should  pass  his 
tree  he  would  fly  at  him  ;  the  rest  could  stab  him  to 
death  with  their  lances — that  was  the  only  way  to  end 
it  now. 

He  shrank  back,  teeth  set,  nerving  himself  for  the 
spring — a  hunted  thing  turned  fierce,  a  desperate 
man  knowing  that  death  was  close.  How  long  they 
were  in  corning  !  Had  they  seen  him  ?  When  would 
the  horse's  nose  pass  the  great  tree-trunk  ? 

"  Halt !"  cried  a  voice  very  near.  The  soft  trample 
of  horses  ceased. 

"  Dismount  I" 

It  seemed  an  age ;  the  sluggish  seconds  crawled  on. 
There  was  the  sound  of  feet  among  the  dry  forest 
leaves — the  hum  of  deep  voices.  He  waited,  trem 
bling,  for  now  it  would  be  a  man  on  foot  with  naked 
sabre  who  should  sink  under  his  spring.  Would  he 
never  come  ? 

At  last,  unable  to  stand  the  suspense,  he  moved  his 
eyes  to  the  edge  of  the  tree.  There  they  were,  a  group 
of  Uhlans  standing  near  two  men  who  stood  facing 
each  other,  jackets  off,  shirts  open  to  the  throat. 

The  two  men  wererilickerl  and  Von  Steyr. 

Eickerl  rolled  up  his  white  shirt-sleeve  and  tucked 
the  cuff  into  the  folds,  his  naked  sabre  under  his  arm. 
Von  Steyr,  in  shirt,  riding-breeches,  and  boots,  stood 
with  one  leg  crossed  before  the  other,  leaning  on  his 
bared  sabre.  The  surgeon  and  the  two  seconds  walked 
apart,  speaking  in  undertones,  with  now  and  then  a 
quick  gesture  from  the  surgeon.  The  three  troopers 


RICKERL'S  SABRE  209 

held  the  horses  of  the  party,  and  watched  silently. 
When  at  last  one  of  the  Uhlans  spoke,  they  were  so 
near  that  every  word  was  perfectly  distinct  to  Jack  : 

"  Gentlemen,  an  affair  of  honour  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy  is  always  deplorable." 

Rickerl  burst  out  violently.  t(  There  can  be  no 
compromise — no  adjustment.  Is  it  Lieutenant  von 
Steyr  who  seeks  it  ?  Then  I  tell  him  he  is  a  hang 
man  and  a  coward  !  He  hangs  a  franc  -  tireur  who 
fires  on  us  with  explosive  bullets,  but  he  himself 
does  not  hesitate  to  disgrace  his  uniform  and  regi 
ment  by  firing  explosive  bullets  at  an  escaping  wretch 
in  a  balloon  I" 

"  You  lie  !"  said  Von  Steyr,  his  face  convulsed.  At 
the  same  moment  the  surgeon  stepped  forward  with 
a  gesture,  the  two  seconds  placed  themselves ;  some 
body  muttered  a  formula  in  a  gross  bass  voice  and 
the  swordsmen  raised  their  heavy  sabres  and  saluted. 
The  next  moment  they  were  at  it  like  tigers ;  their 
sabres  flashed  above  their  heads,  the  sabres  of  the 
seconds  hovering  around  the  outer  edge  of  the  circle 
of  glimmering  steel  like  snakes  coiling  to  spring. 

To  and  fro  swayed  the  little  group  under  the  blind 
ing  flashes  of  light,  stroke  rang  on  stroke,  steel  shiv 
ered  and  tinkled  and  clanged  on  steel. 

Fascinated  by  the  spectacle,  Jack  crouched  close  to 
the  tree,  seeing  all  he  dared  to  see,  but  keeping  a 
sharp  eye  on  the  three  Uhlans  who  were  holding  the 
horses,  and  who  should  have  been  doing  sentry  duty 
also.  But  they  were  human,  and  their  eyes  could  not 
be  dragged  away  from  the  terrible  combat  before 
them. 

Suddenly,  from  the  woods  to  the  right,  a  rifle-shot 


210  LORRAINE  ! 

rang  out,  clear  and  sharp,  and  one  of  the  Uhlans 
dropped  the  three  bridles,  straightened  out  to  his  full 
height,  trembled,  and  lurched  sideways.  The  horses, 
freed,  backed  into  the  other  horses ;  the  two  remaining 
Uhlans  tried  to  seize  them,  but  another  shot  rang  out 
— another,  and  then  another.  In  the  confusion  and 
turmoil  a  voice  cried:  "Mount,  for  God's  sake!"  but 
one  of  the  horses  was  already  free,  and  was  galloping 
away  riderless  through  the  woods. 

A  terrible  yell  arose  from  the  underbrush,  where  a 
belt  of  smoke  hung  above  the  bushes,  and  again  the 
rifles  cracked.  Von  Steyr  turned  and  seized  a  horse, 
throwing  himself  heavily  across  the  saddle ;  the  sur 
geon  and  the  two  seconds  scrambled  into  their  saddles, 
and  the  remaining  pair  of  Uhlans,  already  mounted, 
wheeled  their  horses  and  galloped  headlong  into  the 
woods. 

Jack  saw  Eickerl  set  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  but  his 
horse  was  restive  and  started,  dragging  him. 

"Hurry,  Herr  Hauptmann  !"  cried  a  Uhlan, passing 
him  at  a  gallop.  Rickerl  cast  a  startled  glance  over 
his  shoulder,  where,  from  the  thickets,  a  dozen  franc- 
tireurs  were  springing  towards  him,  shouting  and  shak 
ing  their  chassepots.  Something  had  given  way — 
Jack  saw  that — for  the  horse  started  on  at  a  trot,  snort 
ing  with  fright.  He  saw  Rickerl  run  after  him,  seize 
the  bridle,  stumble,  recover,  and  hang  to  the  stirrup ; 
but  the  horse  tore  away  and  left  him  running  on  be 
hind,  one  hand  grasping  his  naked  sabre,  one  clutch 
ing  a  bit  of  the  treacherous  bridle. 

" A  mort  les  Uhlans!"  shouted  the  franc -tireurs, 
their  ferocious  faces  lighting  up  as  RickerFs  horse 
eluded  its  rider  and  crashed  away  through  the  saplings. 


RICKERL'S  SABRE  211 

Rickerl  cast  one  swift  glance  at  the  savage  faces, 
turned  his  head  like  a  trapped  wolf  in  a  pit,  hesitated, 
and  started  to  run.  A  chorus  of  howls  greeted  him  : 
"A  mort  I"  "A  mort  le  voleur  I"  "A  la  lanterne 
les  Uhlans!" 

Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  Jack 
sprang  from  his  tree  and  ran  parallel  to  Bickerl. 

"Kicky!"  he  called  in  English — "follow  me! 
Hurry !  hurry  \" 

The  franc-tireurs  could  not  see  Jack,  but  they 
heard  his  voice,  and  answered  it  with  a  roar.  Rickerl, 
too,  heard  it,  and  he  also  heard  the  sound  of  Jack's 
feet  crashing  through  the  willows  along  the  river- 
bottom. 

"Jack!"  he  cried. 

"  Quick !  Take  to  the  river-bank  I"  shouted  Jack 
in  English  again.  In  a  moment  they  were  running- 
side  by  side  up  the  river  -  bottom,  hidden  from  the 
view  of  the  franc-tireurs. 

"Do  as  I  do,"  panted  Jack.  "Throw  your  sabre 
away  and  follow  me.  It's  our  last  chance."  But 
Rickerl  clung  to  his  sabre  and  ran  on.  And  now  the 
park  wall  rose  right  in  their  path,  seeming  to  block 
all  progress. 

"We  can't  get  over — it's  ended,"  gasped  Rickerl. 

"  Yes,  we  can — follow,"  whispered  Jack,  and  dashed 
straight  into  the  river  where  it  washed  the  base  of  the 
wall. 

"Do  exactly  as  I  do.  Follow  close,"  urged  Jack  ; 
and,  wading  to  the  edge  of  the  wall,  he  felt  along 
under  the  water  for  a  moment,  then  knelt  down, 
ducked  his  head,  gave  a  wriggle,  and  disappeared. 
Rickerl  followed  him,  kneeling  and  ducking  his  head. 


212  LORRAINE  ! 

At  the  same  moment  he  felt  a  powerful  current  pull 
ing  him  forward,  and,  groping  around  under  the  shal 
low  water,  his  hands  encountered  the  rim  of  a  large 
iron  conduit.  He  stuck  his  head  into  it,  gave  him 
self  a  push,  and  shot  through  the  short  pipe  into  a 
deep  pool  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  from  which 
Jack  dragged  him  dripping  and  exhausted. 

"You  are  my  prisoner!"  said  Jack,  between  his 
gasps.  "  Give  me  your  sabre,  Eicky — quick  !  Look 
yonder  I"  A  loud  explosion  followed  his  words,  and  a 
column  of  smoke  rose  above  the  foliage  of  the  vine 
yard  before  them. 

"Artillery  !"  blurted  out  Rickerl,  in  amazement. 

"French  artillery  —  look  out!  Here  come  the 
franc-tireurs  over  the  wall !  Give  me  that  sabre  and 
run  for  the  French  lines — if  you  don't  want  to  hang  I" 
And,  as  Rickerl  hesitated,  with  a  scowl  of  hate  at  the 
franc-tireurs  now  swarming  over  the  wall,  Jack  seized 
the  sabre  and  jerked  it  violently  from  his  hand. 

"  You're  crazy  \"  he  muttered.  "  Run  for  the  bat 
teries  ! — here,  this  way  !" 

A  franc-tireur  fired  at  them  point-blank,  and  the 
bullet  whistled  between  them.  "  Leave  me.  Give 
me  my  sabre,"  said  Rickerl,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Then  we'll  both  stay." 

"  Leave  me  !    I'll  not  hang,  I  tell  you." 

"No." 

The  franc-tireurs  were  running  towards  them. 

"  They'll  kill  us  both.     Here  they  come  !" 

(<  You  stood  by  me — "  said  Jack,  in  a  faint  voice. 

Rickerl  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  hesitated,  and 
cried,  "I  surrender  !  Come  on  !  Hurry,  Jack — for 
your  sister's  sake !" 


XX 

SIR  THORALD  IS  SILENT 

IT  was  a  long  run  to  the  foot  of  the  vineyard  hill, 
where,,  on  the  crest,  deep  hidden  among  the  vines, 
three  cannon  clanged  at  regular  intervals,  stroke  fol 
lowing  stroke,  like  the  thundering  summons  of  a  gi 
gantic  tocsin. 

Behind  them  they  saw  the  franc-tireurs  for  a  mo 
ment,  thrashing  waist-deep  through  the  rank  marsh 
weeds;  then,  as  they  plunged  into  a  wheat -field,  the 
landscape  disappeared,  and  all  around  the  yellow  grain 
rustled,  waving  above  their  heads,  dense,  sun-heated, 
suffocating. 

Their  shoes  sank  ankle-deep  in  the  reddish-yellow 
soil ;  they  panted,  wet  with  perspiration  as  they  ran. 
Jack  still  clutched  RickerPs  sabre,  and  the  tall  corn, 
brushing  the  blade,  fell  under  the  edge,  keen  as  a 
scythe. 

"  I  can  go  no  farther,"  breathed  Jack,  at  last. 
"  Wait  a  moment,  Ricky." 

The  hot  air  in  the  depths  of  the  wheat  was  stifling, 
and  they  stretched  their  heads  above  the  sea  of  golden 
grain,  gasping  like  fishes  in  a  bowl. 

"  Perhaps  I  won't  have  to  surrender  you,  after  all," 
said  Jack.  "Do  you  see  that  old  straw-stack  on  the 
slope  ?  If  we  could  reach  the  other  slope — " 

15 


214  LORRAINE ! 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  gauge  the  exact  direction, 
then  bent  again  and  plodded  towards  it,  Rickerl  jog 
ging  in  his  footprints. 

As  they  pressed  on  under  the  rustling  canopy,  the 
sound  of  the  cannon  receded,  for  they  were  skirting 
the  vineyard  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  bearing  always 
towards  the  south.  And  now  they  came  to  the  edge 
of  the  long  field,  beyond  which  stretched  another 
patch  of  stubble.  The  straw-stack  stood  half-way  up 
the  slope. 

"  Here's  your  sabre,"  motioned  Jack.  He  was  ex 
hausted  and  reeled  about  in  the  stubble,  but  Rickerl 
passed  one  arm  about  him,  and,  sabre  clutched  in  the 
other  hand,  aided  him  to  the  straw-stack. 

The  fresh  wind  strengthened  them  both ;  the  sweat 
cooled  and  dried  on  their  throbbing  faces.  They 
leaned  against  the  stack,  breathing  heavily,  the  breeze 
blowing  their  wet  hair,  the  solemn  cannon-din  thrill 
ing  their  ears,  stroke  on  stroke. 

"  The  thing  is  plain  to  me,"  gasped  Rickerl,  point 
ing  to  the  smoke-cloud  eddying  above  the  vineyard — 
"a  brigade  or  two  of  Frossard's  corps  have  been  cut  off 
and  hurled  back  towards  Nancy.  Their  rear-guard  is 
making  a  stand — that's  all.  Jack,  what  on  earth  did 
you  get  into  such  a  terrible  scrape  for  ?" 

Jack,  panting  full  length  in  the  shadow  of  the 
straw-stack,  told  Rickerl  the  whole  wretched  story, 
from  the  time  of  his  leaving  Forbach,  after  having 
sent  the  despatches  to  the  Herald)  up  to  the  moment 
he  had  called  to  Rickerl  there  in  the  meadow,  sur 
rounded  by  Uhlans,  a  rope  already  choking  him  sense 
less. 

Rickerl  listened  impassively,  playing  with  the  sabre 


SIR  THOBALD  IS   SILENT  216 

on  his  knees,  glancing  right  and  left  across  the  coun 
try  with  his  restless  baby-blue  eyes.  When  Jack  fin 
ished  he  said  nothing,  but  it  was  plain  enough  how 
seriously  he  viewed  the  matter. 

" As  for  your  damned  Uhlans,"  ended  Jack,  "I 
have  tried  to  keep  out  of  their  way.  It's  a  relief  to 
me  to  know  that  I  didn't  kill  that  trooper ;  but — con 
found  him  ! — he  shot  at  me  so  enthusiastically  that  I 
thought  it  time  to  join  the  party  myself.  Ricky, 
would  they  have  hanged  me  if  they  had  given  me  a 
fair  court-martial  ?" 

"  As  a  favour  they  might  have  shot  you,"  replied 
Rickerl,  gloomily. 

"Then,"  said  Jack,  "there  are  two  things  left  for 
me  to  do— go  to  Paris,  which  I  can't  unless  Mademoi 
selle  de  Nesville  goes,  or  join  some  franc-tireur  corps 
and  give  the  German  army  as  good  as  they  send.  If 
you  Uhlans  think,"  he  continued,  violently,  "that 
you're  coming  into  France  to  hang  and  shoot  and 
raise  hell  without  getting  hell  in  return,  you're  a  pack 
of  idiots  !" 

"The  war  is  none  of  your  affair,"  said  Eickerl, 
flushing.  "  You  brought  it  on  yourself — this  hanging 
business.  Good  heavens  !  the  whole  thing  makes  me 
sick  !  I  can't  believe  that  two  weeks  ago  we  were  all 
there  together  at  Morteyn — " 

"A  pretty  return  you're  making  for  Morteyn  hos 
pitality  !"  blurted  out  Jack.  Then,  shocked  at  what 
he  had  said,  he  begged  Rickerl's  pardon  and  bitterly 
took  himself  to  task. 

"  I  am  a  fool,  Ricky  ;  I  know  you've  got  to  follow 
your  regiment,  and  I  know  it  must  cut  you  to  the 
heart,  Don't  mind  what  I  say ;  I'm  so  miserable  and 


21G  LORRAINE  ! 

bewildered,  and  I  haven't  got  the  feeling  of  that  rope 
off  my  neck  yet." 

Rickerl  raised  his  hand  gently,  but  his  face  was 
hard  set. 

"Jack,  yon  don't  begin  to  know  what  a  hell  I  am 
living  in,  I  who  care  so  much  for  France  and  the 
French  people,  to  know  that  all,  all  is  ended  forever, 
that  I  can  never  again — " 

His  voice  choked ;  he  cleared  it  and  went  on : 
"The  very  name  of  Uhlan  is  held  in  horror  in  France 
now ;  the  word  Prussian  is  a  curse  when  it  falls  from 
French  lips.  God  knows  why  we  are  fighting  !  We 
Germans  obey,  that  is  all.  I  am  a  captain  in  a 
Prussian  cavalry  regiment ;  the  call  comes,  that  is  all 
that  I  know.  And  here  I  am,  riding  through  the 
land  I  love ;  I  sit  on  my  horse  and  see  the  torch 
touched  to  field  and  barn ;  I  see  railroads  torn  out 
of  the  ground,  I  see  wretched  peasants  hung  to  the 
rafters  of  their  own  cottages."  He  lowered  his  voice  ; 
his  face  grew  paler.  "  I  see  the  friend  I  care  most 
for  in  all  the  world,  a  rope  around  his  neck,  my  own 
troopers  dragging  him  to  the  vilest  death  a  man  can 
die  !  That  is  war  !  Why  ?  I  am  a  Prussian,  it  is  not 
necessary  for  me  to  know ;  but  the  regiment  moves, 
and  I  move !  it  halts,  I  halt !  it  charges,  retreats, 
burns,  tramples,  rends,  devastates  !  I  am  always  with 
it,  unless  some  bullet  settles  me.  For  this  war  is 
nearly  ended,  Jack,  nearly  ended — a  battle  or  two,  a 
siege  or  two,  nothing  more.  What  can  stand  against 
us  ?  Not  this  bewildered  France." 

Jack  was  silent. 

RickerFs  blue  eyes  sought  his  ;  he  rested  his  square 
chin  on  one  hand  and  spoke  again : 


SIR  THOKALD  IS   SILENT  217 

"Jack,  do  you  know  that  —  that  I  love  your  sis 
ter  ?" 

"Her  last  letter  said  as  much,"  replied  Jack, 
coldly. 

Rickerl  watched  his  face. 

"You  are  sorry?" 

"I  don't  know  ;  I  had  hoped  she  would  marry  an 
American.  Have  you  spoken  ?" 

"Yes."  This  was  a  chivalrous  falsehood;  it  was 
Dorothy  who  had  spoken  first,  there  in  the  gravel 
drive  as  he  rode  away  from  Morteyn. 

Jack  glanced  at  him  angrily. 

"It  was  not  honourable,"  he  said;  "my  aunt's  per 
mission  should  have  been  asked,  as  you  know ;  also, 
incidentally,  my  own.  Does— does  Dorothy  care  for 
you  ?  Oh,  you  need  not  answer  that ;  I  think  she 
does.  Well,  this  war  may  change  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rickerl,  sadly. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  cried  Jack ;  "  Heaven  knows 
I  wouldn't  have  you  hurt,  Ricky ;  don't  think  I  meant 
that—"  • 

"  I  don't,"  said  Rickerl,  half  smiling  ;  "you  risked 
your  skin  to  save  me  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  And  you  called  oft  your  bloody  pack  of  hangmen 
for  me,"  said  Jack ;  "  I'm  devilish  grateful,  Ricky— 
indeed  I  am — and  you  know  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you 
iii  the  family  if — if  it  wasn't  for  this  cursed  war. 
Never  mind,  Dorothy  generally  has  what  she  wants, 
even  if  it's — " 

"  Even  if  it's  an  Uhlan?"  suggested  Rickerl,  gravely. 

Jack  smiled  and  laid  his  hand  on  Rickerl's  arm. 

"She  ought  to  see  you  now,  bareheaded,  dusty, 
in  your  shirt  -  sleeves  !  You're  not  much  like  the 


218  LORRAINE  ! 

attache  at  the  Diplomatic  ball — eh,  Ricky  ?  If  yon 
marry  Dorothy  I'll  punch  your  head.  Come  on, 
we've  got  to  find  out  where  we  are." 

"  That's  my  road,"  observed  Rickerl,  quietly,  point 
ing  across  the  fields. 

"  Where?    Why?" 

"  Don't  you  see  ?" 

Jack  searched  the  distant  landscape  in  vain. 

"  No,  are  the  Germans  there  ?  Oh,  now  I  see. 
Why,  it's  a  squadron  of  your  cursed  Uhlans !" 

"Yes,"  said  Rickerl,  mildly. 

"  Then  they've  been  chased  out  of  the  Chateau  de 
Nesville !" 

"  Probably.  They  may  come  back.  Jack,  can't  you 
get  out  of  this  country  ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Jack,  soberly.  He  thought  of 
Lorraine,  of  the  marquis  lying  mangled  and  dead  in 
the  forest  beside  the  fragments  of  his  balloon. 

"Your  Lieutenai^  von  Steyr  is  a  dirty  butcher," 
he  said.  "I  hope  you'll  finish  him  when  you  find 
him." 

"He  fired  explosive  bullets,  which  your  fra*>c- 
tireurs  use  on  us,"  retorted  Rickerl,  growing  red. 

"Oh,"  cried  Jack  in  disgust,  "the  whole  busi 
ness  makes  me  sick !  Ricky,  give  me  your  hand — 
there  !  Don't  let  this  war  end  our  friendship.  Go 
to  your  Uhlans  now.  As  for  me,  I  must  get  back  to 
Morteyn.  What  Lorraine  will  do,  where  she  can  go, 
how  she  will  stand  this  ghastly  news,  I  don't  know  ; 
and  I  wish  there  was  somebody  else  to  tell  her.  My 
uncle  and  aunt  have  already  gone  to  Paris,  they  said 
they  would  not  wait  for  me.  Lorraine  is  at  Morteyn, 
alone  except  for  her  maid,  and  she  is  probably  fright- 


SIB  THORALD  13   SILENT  219 

ened  at  my  not  returning  as  I  promised.  Do  yon 
think  you  can  get  to  your  Uhlans  safely  ?  They 
passed  into  the  grove  beyond  the  hills.  What  the 
mischief  are  those  cannon  shelling,  anyway  ?  Well, 
good-by  !  Better  not  come  up  the  hill  with  me,  or 
you'll  have  to  part  with  your  sabre  for  good.  We 
did  lose  our  franc -tireur  friends  beautifully.  I'll 
write  Dorothy ;  I'll  tell  her  that  I  captured  you,  sabre 
and  all.  Good-by  !  Good-by,  old  fellow  !  If  you'll 
promise  not  to  get  a  bullet  in  your  blond  hide  I'll 
promise  to  be  a  brother-in-law  to  you  !" 

Eickerl  looked  very  manly  as  he  stood  there,  booted, 
bareheaded,  his  thin  shirt,  soaked  with  sweat,  outlin 
ing  his  muscular  figure. 

They  lingered  a  moment,  hands  closely  clasped,  look 
ing  gravely  into  each  other's  faces.  Then,  with  a  gest 
ure,  half  sad,  half  friendly,  Rickerl  started  across  the 
stubble  towards  the  distant  grove  where  his  Uhlans 
had  taken  cover. 

Jack  watched  him  until  his  white  shirt  became  a 
speck,  a  dot,  and  finally  vanished  among  the  trees  on 
the  blue  hill.  When  he  was  gone,  Jack  turned  sharp 
ly  away  and  climbed  the  furze  -  covered  slope  from 
whence  he  hoped  to  see  the  cannon,  now  firing  only 
at  five-minute  intervals.  As  he  toiled  up  the  incline 
he  carefully  kept  himself  under  cover,  for  he  had  no 
desire  to  meet  any  lurking  franc-tireurs.  It  is  true 
that,  even  when  the  franc-tireurs  had  been  closest, 
there  in  the  swamp  among  the  rank  marsh  grasses, 
the  distance  was  too  great  for  them  to  have  identified 
him  with  certainty.  But  he  thought  it  best  to  keep 
out  of  their  way  until  within  hail  of  the  regular  troops, 
so  he  took  advantage  of  bushes  and  inequalities  of  the 


J20  LORRAINE  ! 

slope  to  reconnoitre  the  landscape  before  he  reached 
the  summit  of  the  ridge.  There  was  a  tufted  thicket 
of  yellow  broom  in  flower  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge ; 
behind  this  he  lay  and  looked  out  across  the  plain. 

A  little  valley  separated  this  hill  from  the  vineyard,, 
terraced  up  to  the  north,  ridge  upon  ridge.  The  can 
non  smoke  shot  up  from  the  thickets  of  vines,  rose, 
and  drifted  to  the  west,  blotting  out  the  greater  por 
tion  of  the  vineyard.  The  cannon  themselves  were 
invisible.  At  times  Jack  fancied  he  saw  a  human 
silhouette  when  the  white  smoke  rushed  outward,  but 
the  spectral  vines  loomed  up  everywhere  through  the 
dense  cannon-fog  and  he  could  not  be  sure. 

However,  there  were  plenty  of  troops  below  the  hill 
now — infantry  of  the  line  trudging  along  the  dusty 
road  in  fairly  good  order,  and  below  the  vineyard, 
among  the  uncut  fields  of  flax,  more  infantry  crouch 
ed,  probably  supporting  the  three-gun  battery  on  the 
hill. 

At  that  distance  he  could  not  tell  a  franc -tireur 
from  any  regular  foot -soldier  except  line  -  infantry ; 
their  red  caps  and  trousers  were  never  to  be  mis 
taken.  As  he  looked,  he  wondered  at  a  nation  that 
clothed  its  troops  in  a  colour  that  furnished  such 
a  fearfully  distinct  mark  to  the  enemy.  A  French 
army,  moving,  cannot  conceal  itself ;  the  red  of  trou 
sers  and  caps,  the  mirror -like  reflections  of  cuirass 
and  casque  and  lance  -  tip,  advertise  the  presence  of 
French  troops  so  persistently  that  an  enemy  need 
never  fear  any  open  landscape  by  daylight. 

Jack  watched  the  cannonade,  lying  on  his  stomach, 
chin  supported  by  both  hands.  He  was  perfectly  cool 
now;  he  neither  feared  the  Uhlans  nor  the  franc- 


^R  THORALD  IS  SILENT  221 

tirenrs.  For  a  while  he  vainly  tried  to  comprehend 
the  reason  of  the  cannonade ;  the  shells  shot  out 
across  the  valley  in  tall  curves,  dropping  into  a  dis 
tant  bit  of  hazy  blue  woodland,  or  exploded  above  the 
trees ;  the  column  of  infantry  below  plodded  dogged 
ly  southward ;  the  infantry  in  the  flax-field  lay  supine. 
Clearly  something  was  interfering  with  the  retreat  of 
the  troops  —  something  that  threatened  them  from 
those  distant  woods.  And  now  he  could  see  cavalry 
moving  about  the  crest  of  the  nearer  hills,  but,  with 
out  his  glass,  it  was  not  possible  to  tell  what  they 
were.  Often  he  looked  at  the  nearer  forest  that  hid 
the  Chateau  de  Nesville.  Somewhere  within  those 
sombre  woods  lay  the  dead  marquis. 

With  a  sigh  he  rose  to  his  knees,  shivered  in  the 
sunshine,  passed  one  hand  over  his  forehead,  and 
finally  stood  up.  Hunger  had  made  him  faint ;  his 
head  grew  dizzy. 

"It  must  be  noon,  at  least,"  he  muttered,  and 
started  down  the  hill  and  across  the  fields  towards 
the  woods  of  Morteyn.  As  he  walked  he  pulled  the 
bearded  wheat  from  ripening  stems  and  chewed  it 
to  dull  his  hunger.  The  raw  place  on  his  neck, 
where  the  rope  had  chafed,  stung  when  the  perspira 
tion  started.  He  moved  quickly  but  warily,  keeping 
a  sharp  lookout  on  every  side.  Once  he  passed  a 
miniature  vineyard,  heavy  with  white  -  wine  grapes ; 
and,  as  he  threaded  a  silent  path  among  the  vines, 
he  ate  his  fill  and  slaked  his  thirst  with  the  cool  amber 
fruit.  He  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  little  vineyard, 
and  was  about  to  cross  a  tangle  of  briers  and  stubble, 
when  something  caught  his  eye  in  the  thicket ;  it  was 
a  man's  face — and  he  stopped. 


222  LORRAINE  I 

For  a  minute  they  stared  at  each  other,  making  no 
movement,  no  sound. 

"Sir  Thorald  !"— faltered  Jack. 

But  Sir  Thorald  Hesketh  could  not  speak,  for  he 
had  a  bullet  through  his  lungs. 

As  Jack  sprang  into  the  brier  tangle  towards  him, 
a  slim  figure  in  the  black  garments  of  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy  rose  from  Sir  Thorald's  side.  He  saw  the  white 
cross  on  her  breast,  he  saw  the  white  face  above  it 
and  the  whiter  lips. 

It  was  Alixe  von  Elster. 

At  the  same  instant  the  road  in  front  was  filled 
with  French  infantry,  running. 

Alixe  caught  his  arm,  her  head  turned  towards  the 
road  where  the  infantry  were  crowding  past  at  double- 
quick,  enveloped  in  a  whirling  torrent  of  red  dust. 

"  There  is  a  cart  there,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Jack,  find 
it  quickly  !  The  driver  is  on  the  seat — and  J  can't 
leave  Si/Thorald." 

In  his  amazement  he  stood  hesitating,  looking  from 
the  girl  to  Sir  Thorald;  but  she  drew  him  to  the  edge 
of  the  thicket  and  pointed  to  the  road,  crying,  "  Go  ! 
go  !"  and  he  stumbled  down  the  pasture  slope  to  the 
edge  of  the  road. 

Past  him  plodded  the  red-legged  infantry;  he 
saw,  through  the  whirlwind  of  dust,  the  vague  out 
lines  of  a  tumbril  and  horse  standing  below  in  the 
ditch,  and  he  ran  along  the  grassy  depression  towards 
the  vehicle.  And  now  he  saw  the  driver,  kneeling  in 
the  cart,  his  blue  blouse  a  mass  of  blood,  his  dis 
coloured  face  staring  out  at  the  passing  troops. 

As  he  seized  the  horse's  head  and  started  up  the 
slope  again,  firing  broke  out  among  the  thickets  close 


SIR   THORALD  18   SILENT  296 

at  hand ;  the  infantry  swung  out  to  the  west  in  a 
long  sagging  line ;  the  chassepots  began  banging 
right  and  left.  For  an  instant  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  cavalry  riding  hard  across  a  bit  of  stubble — Uhlans 
he  saw  at  a  glance — then  the  smoke  hid  them.  But 
in  that  brief  instant  he  had  seen,  among  the  galloping 
cavalrymen,  a  mounted  figure,  bareheaded,  wearing 
a  white  shirt,  and  he  knew  that  Eickerl  was  riding 
for  his  life. 

Sick  at  heart  he  peered  into  the  straight,  low  ram 
part  of  smoke;  he  watched  the  spirts  of  rifle-flame 
piercing  it ;  he  saw  it  turn  blacker  when  a  cannon 
bellowed  in  the  increasing  din.  The  infantry  were 
lying  down  out  there  in  the  meadow ;  shadowy  gray 
forms  passed,  repassed,  reeled,  ran,  dropped,  and  rose 
again.  Close  at  hand  a  long  line  of  men  lay  flat  on 
their  bellies  in  the  wheat  stubble.  "When  each  rifle 
spoke  the  smoke  rippled  through  the  short  wheat 
stalks  or  eddied  and  curled  over  the  ground  like  the 
gray  foam  of  an  outrushing  surf. 

He  backed  the  horse  and  heavy  cart,  turned  both, 
half  blinded  by  the  rifle-smoke,  and  started  up  the 
incline.  Two  bullets,  speeding  over  the  clover  like 
singing  bees,  rang  loudly  on  the  iron-bound  cart 
wheels  :  the  horse  plunged  and  swerved,  dragging 
Jack  with  him,  and  the  dead  figure,  kneeling  in  the 
cart,  tumbled  over  the  tail-board  with  a  grotesque 
wave  of  its  stiffening  limbs.  There  it  lay,  sprawl 
ing  in  an  impossible  posture  in  the  ditch.  A  star 
tled  grasshopper  alighted  on  its  face,  turned  around, 
crawled  to  the  ear,  and  sat  there. 

And  now  the  volley  firing  grew  to  a  sustained  crac 
kle,  through  which  the  single  cannon  boomed  and 


224  LOKRAINE ! 

boomed,  hidden  in  the  surging  smoke  that  rolled 
in  waves,  sinking,  rising,  like  the  waves  of  a  wind- 
whipped  sea. 

"  Where  are  you,  Alixe?"  he  shouted. 

"  Here  !     Hurry  V 

She  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  brier  tangle  as  he 
laboured  up  the  slope  with  the  horse  and  cart.  Sir 
Thorald's  breathing  was  horrible  to  hear  when  they 
stooped  and  lifted  him ;  Alixe  was  crying.  They 
laid  him  on  the  blood-soaked  straw ;  Alixe  crept  in 
beside  him  and  took  his  head  on  her  knees. 

"To  Morteyn  ?"  whispered  Jack.  "Perhaps  we 
can  find  a  surgeon  nearer — " 

"  Oh,  hurry I"  she  sobbed ;  and  he  climbed  heavily  to 
the  seat  and  started  back  towards  the  road. 

The  road  was  empty  where  he  turned  in  out  of  the 
fields,  but,  just  above,  he  heard  cannon  thundering  in 
the  mist.  As  he  drew  in  the  reins,  undecided,  the 
cannonade  suddenly  redoubled  in  fury ;  the  infantry 
fire  blazed  out  with  a  new  violence ;  above  the  ter 
rific  blast  he  heard  trumpets  sounding,  and  beneath  it 
he  felt  the  vibration  of  the  earth  ;  horses  were  neigh 
ing  out  beyond  the  smoke ;  a  thousand  voices  rose  in 
a  far,  hoarse  shout : 

"  Hurrah  !    Preussen  \" 

The  Prussian  cavalry  were  charging  the  cannon. 

Suddenly  he  heard  them  close  at  hand  ;  they  loomed 
everywhere  in  the  smoke,  they  were  among  the  in 
fantry,  among  the  cannoneers ;  a  tall  rider  in  silver 
helmet  and  armour  plunged  out  into  the  road  behind 
them,  his  horse  staggered,  trembled,  then  man  and 
beast  collapsed  in  a  shower  of  bullets.  Others  were 
coming,  too,  galloping  in  through  the  grain  stubble 


SIR  THORALD  It  SILENT  225 

and  thickets,  shaking  their  long,  straight  sabres,  bnt 
the  infantry  chased  them,  and  fell  upon  them,  club 
bing,  shooting,  stabbing,  pulling  horses  and  men  to 
earth.  The  cannon,  which  had  ceased,  began  again  ; 
the  infantry  were  cheering ;  trumpets  blew  persist 
ently,  faintly  and  more  faintly.  In  the  road  a  big, 
bearded  man  was  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees 
away  from  a  dead  horse.  His  helmet  fell  off  in  the 
dust. 

Jack  gathered  the  reins  and  called  to  the  horse. 
As  the  heavy  cart  moved  off,  the  ground  began  to 
tremble  again  with  the  shock  of  oncoming  horses,  and 
again,  through  the  swelling  tumult,  he  caught  the 
cry — 

"Hurrah!    Preussen  !" 

The  Prussian  cuirassiers  were  coming  back. 

"  Is  Sir  Thorald  dying  ?"  he  asked  of  Alixe  ;  "  can 
he  live  if  I  lash  the  horse  ?" 

"Look  at  him,  Jack,"  she  muttered. 

"  I  see ;  he  cannot  live.  I  shall  drive  slowly.  You 
— yon  are  wounded,  are  you  ?  there — on  the  neck — *9 

"It  is  his  blood  on  my  breast." 


XXI 

THE  WHITE  CKOSS 

AT  ten  o'clock  that  night  Jack  stepped  from  the 
ballroom  to  the  terrace  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn  and 
listened  to  the  distant  murmur  of  the  river  Lisse,  be 
low  the  meadow.  The  day  of  horror  had  ended  with 
a  dozen  dropping  shots  from  the  outposts,  now  lin 
ing  the  banks  of  the  Lisse  from  the  Chateau  de  Nes- 
ville  to  Morteyn.  The  French  infantry  had  been 
pouring  into  Morteyn  since  late  afternoon  ;  they  had 
entered  the  park  when  he  entered,  driving  his  tumbril 
with  its  blood-stained  burden  ;  they  had  turned  the 
river  into  a  moat,  the  meadow  into  an  earthwork, 
the  Chateau  itself  into  a  fortress. 

On  the  concrete  terrace  beside  him  a  gatling-gun 
glimmered  in  the  starlight ;  sentinels  leaned  on  their 
elbows,  sprawling  across  the  parapets ;  shadowy  ranks 
of  sleeping  men  lay  among  the  shrubbery  below,  white- 
faced,  exhausted,  motionless. 

There  were  low  voices  from  the  darkened  ballroom, 
the  stir  and  tinkle  of  spurred  boots,  the  ring  of  sabres. 
Out  in  the  hard  macadamized  road,  cannon  were 
passing  into  the  park  by  the  iron  gate ;  beyond  the 
road  masses  of  men  moved  in  the  starlight. 

After  a  moment  Jack  turned  away  and  entered  the 
house,  For  the  hundredth  time  he  mounted  the  stairs 


THE  WHITE   CROSS  227 

to  Lorraine's  bedroom  door  and  listened,  holding  his 
breath.  He  heard  nothing  —  not  a  cry — not  a  sob. 
It  had  been  so  from  the  first,  when  he  had  told  her 
that  her  father  lay  dead  somewhere  in  the  forest  of 
Morteyn. 

She  had  said  nothing — she  went  to  her  room  and 
sat  down  on  the  bed,  white  and  still.  Sir  Thorald 
lay  in  the  next  room,  breathing  deeply.  Alixe  was 
kneeling  beside  him,  crying  silently. 

Twice  a  surgeon  from  an  infantry  regiment  had 
come  and  gone  away  after  a  glance  at  Sir  Thorald. 
A  captain  came  later  and  asked  for  a  Sister  of  Mercy. 

"  She  can't  go/'  said  Jack,  in  a  low  voice.  But  little 
Alixe  rose,  still  crying,  and  followed  the  captain  to 
the  stables,  where  a  dozen  mangled  soldiers  lay  in  the 
straw  and  hay. 

It  was  midnight  when  she  returned  to  find  Jack 
standing  beside  Sir  Thorald  in  the  dark.  When  he 
saw  it  was  Alixe  he  led  her  gently  into  the  hall. 

"'He. is  conscious  now;  I  will  call  you  when  the 
time  comes.  Go  into  that  room — Lorraine  is  there, 
alone.  Ah,  go,  Alixe ;  it  is  charity  ! — and  you  wear 
the  white  cross — " 

"  It  is  dyed  scarlet,"  she  whispered  through  her  tears. 

He  returned  to  Sir  Thorald,  who  lay  moving  his 
restless  hands  over  the  sheets  and  turning  his  head 
constantly  from  side  to  side. 

"  Go  on/'  said  Jack ;  "  finish  what  you  were  saying." 

"  Will  she  come  ?" 

"  Yes— in  time." 

Sir  Thorald  relapsed  into  a  rambling,  monotonous 
account  of  some  military  movement  near  Wissem- 
bourg  until  Jack  spoke  again : 


228  LORRAINE  ! 

"  Yes— I  know  ;  tell  me  about  Alixe." 

"Yes  —  Alixe,"  muttered  Sir  Thorald— ''is  she 
here  ?  I  was  wrong ;  I  saw  her  at  Cologne  ;  that 
was  all,  Jack — nothing  more." 

"There  is  more/'  said  Jack  ;  "tell  me." 

"Yes,  there  is  more.  I  saw  that — that  she  loved 
me.  There  was  a  scene — I  am  not  always  a  beast — I 
tried  not  to  be.  Then— then  I  found  that  there  was 
nothing  left  but  to  go  away — somewhere — and  live 
— without  her.  It  was  too  late.  She  knew  it — " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Jack. 

Suddenly  Sir  Thorald's  voice  grew  clear. 

"Can't  you  understand  ?"  he  asked;  "I  damned 
both  our  souls.  She  is  buying  hers  back  with  tears 
and  blood — with  the  white  cross  on  her  heart  and 
death  in  her  eyes  !  And  I  am  dying  here — and  she's 
to  drag  out  the  years  afterwards — " 

He  choked ;  Jack  watched  him  quietly. 

Sir  Thorald  turned  his  head  to  him  when  the  cough 
ing  ceased. 

"  She  went  with  a  field  ambulance  ;  I  went,  too.  I 
was  shot  below  that  vineyard.  They  told  her;  that 
is  all.  Am  I  dying  ?" 

Jack  did  not  answer. 

"  Will  you  write  to  Molly  ?"  asked  Sir  Thorald, 
drowsily. 

"  Yes.     God  help  you,  Sir  Thorald." 

"  Who  cares  ?"  muttered  Sir  Thorald.  "  I'm  a  beast 
— a  dying  beast.  May  I  see  Alixe  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  tell  her  to  come — now.  Soon  I'll  wish  to 
be  alone  ;  that's  the  way  beasts  die — alone." 

He  rambled  on  again  about  a  battle  somewhere  in 


THE  WHITE  CROSS  229 

the  south,  and  Jack  went  to  the  door  and  called, 
"  Alixe  !" 

She  came,  pallid  and  weeping,  carrying  a  lighted 
candle. 

Jack  took  it  from  her  hand  and  blew  ont  the  flame. 

"  They  won't  let  us  have  a  light ;  they  fear  bom 
bardment.  Go  in  now." 

"  Is  he  dying  ?" 

"God  knows." 

"  God  ?"  repeated  Alixe. 

Jack  bent  and  touched  the  child's  forehead  with 
his  lips. 

"Pray  for  him/'  he  said;  "I  shall  write  his  wife 
to-night." 

Alixe  went  in  to  the  bedside  to  kneel  again  and  buy 
back  two  souls  with  the  agony  of  her  child's  heart. 

"  Pray/"  she  said  to  Sir  Thorald. 

"  Pray,"  he  repeated. 

Jack  closed  the  door. 

Up  and  down  the  dark  hall  he  wandered,  pausing 
at  times  to  listen  to  some  far  rifle-shot  and  the  an 
swering  fusillade  along  the  picket -line.  Once  he 
stopped  an  officer  on  the  stairway  and  asked  for  a 
priest,  but,  remembering  that  Sir  Thorald  was  Prot 
estant,  turned  away  with  a  vague  apology  and  re 
sumed  his  objectless  wandering. 

At  times  he  fancied  he  heard  cannon,  so  far  away 
that  nothing  of  sound  remained,  only  a  faint  jar  on 
the  night  air.  Twice  he  looked  from  the  window 
over  the  vast  black  forest,  thinking  of  the  dead  man 
lying  there  alone.  And  then  he  longed  to  go  to 
Lorraine ;  he  felt  that  he  must  touch  her,  that  his 

hand  on  hers  might  help  her  somehow. 
16 


230  LORRAINE ! 

At  last,,  deadly  weary,  he  sat  down  on  the  stairs  by 
her  door  to  try  to  think  out  the  problems  that  to 
morrow  would  bring. 

His  aunt  and  uncle  had  gone  on  to  Paris ;  Lorraine's 
father  was  dead  and  her  home  had  been  turned  into  a 
fort.  Saint-Lys  was  heavily  occupied  by  the  Germans, 
and  they  held  the  railroad  also  in  their  possession.  It 
seemed  out  of  the  question  to  stay  in  Morteyn  with 
Lorraine,  for  an  assault  on  the  Chateau  was  imminent. 
How  could  he  get  her  to  Paris  ?  That  was  the  only 
place  for  her  now. 

He  thought,  too,  of  his  own  danger  from  the  Uhlans. 
He  had  told  Lorraine,  partly  because  he  wished  her 
to  understand  their  position,  partly  because  the  story 
of  his  capture,  trial,  and  escape  led  up  to  the  tragedy 
that  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  break  to  her.  But  he 
had  done  it.  and  she,  pale  as  death,  had  gone  silently 
to  her  room,  motioning  him  away  as  he  stood  awk 
wardly  at  the  door. 

That  last  glimpse  of  the  room  remained  in  his 
mind,  it  obliterated  everything  else  at  moments — 
Lorraine  sitting  on  her  bedside,  her  blue  eyes  vacant, 
her  face  whiter  than  the  pillows. 

And  so  he  sat  there  on  the  stairs,  the  dawn  creep 
ing  into  the  hallway  ;  and  his  eyes  never  left  the  panels 
of  her  door.  There  was  not  a  sound  from  within. 
This  for  a  while  frightened  him,  and  again  and  again 
he  started  impulsively  towards  the  door,  only  to  turn 
back  again  and  watch  there  in  the  coming  dawn. 
Presently  he  remembered  that  dawn  might  bring 
an  attack  on  the  Chateau,  and  he  rose  and  hurried 
down-stairs  to  the  terrace  where  a  crowd  of  officers 
stood  watching  the  woods  through  their  night-glasses. 


THE  WHITE  CBOSS  231 

The  general  impression  among  them  was  that  there 
might  be  an  attack.  They  yawned  and  smoked  and 
studied  the  woods,  but  they  were  polite,  and  answered 
all  his  questions  with  a  courteous  light-heartedness 
that  jarred  on  him.  He  glanced  for  a  moment  at  the 
infantry,  now  moving  across  the  meadow  towards  the 
river ;  he  saw  troops  standing  at  ease  along  the  park 
wall,  troops  sitting  in  long  ranks  in  the  vegetable 
garden,  troops  passing  the  stables,  carrying  pickaxes 
and  wheeling  wheelbarrows  piled  with  empty  canvas 
sacks. 

Sleepy -eyed  boyish  soldiers  of  the  artillery  were 
harnessing  the  battery  horses,  rubbing  them  down, 
bathing  wounded  limbs  or  braiding  the  tails.  The 
farrier  was  shoeing  a  great  black  horse,  who  turned  its 
gentle  eyes  towards  the  hay-bales  piled  in  front  of  the 
stable.  One  or  two  slim  officers,  in  pale -blue  fur- 
edged  pelisses,  strolled  among  the  trampled  flower 
beds,  smoking  cigars  and  watching  a  line  of  men 
shovelling  earth  into  canvas  sacks.  The  odour  of 
soup  was  in  the  air  ;  the  kitchen  echoed  with  the  din 
of  pots  and  pans.  Outside,  too,  the  camp- kettles 
were  steaming  and  the  rattle  of  gammels  came  across 
the  lawn. 

"  Who  is  in  command  here  ?"  asked  Jack,  turning 
to  a  handsome  dragoon  officer  who  stood  leaning  on 
his  sabre,  the  horse-hair  crinie're  blowing  about  his 
helmet. 

"Why, General  Farron !"  said  the  officer  in  surprise. 

"Farron!"  repeated  Jack;  "is  he  back  from 
Africa,  here  in  France — here  at  Morteyn  ?" 

"  He  is  at  the  Chateau  de  Nesville,"  said  the  officer, 
smiling,  "  You  seem  to  know  him,  monsieur, " 


282  LORRAINE  ! 

"Indeed  I  do/'  said  Jack,  warmly.  "Do  you 
think  he  will  come  here  ?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Shall  I  send  you  word  when  he 
arrives  ?" 

Another  officer  came  up,  a  general,  white-haired 
and  sombre. 

"  Is  this  the  Vicomte  de  Morteyn  ?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  Jack. 

"His  nephew;  the  vicomte  has  gone  to  Paris. 
My  name  is  Marche,"  saiu  Jack. 

The  general  saluted  him ;  Jack  bowed. 

"  I  regret  the  military  necessity  of  occupying  the 
Chateau  ;  the  government  will  indemnify  Monsieur 
le  Vicomte — " 

Jack  held  up  his  hand :  "  My  uncle  is  an  old  sol 
dier  of  France  —  the  government  is  welcome  ;  I  bid 
you  welcome  in  the  name  of  the  Vicomte  de  Mor 
teyn." 

The  old  general  flushed  and  bowed  deeply. 

"I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  the  government. 
Blood  will  tell.  It  is  easy,  Monsieur  Marche,  to  see 
that  you  are  the  nephew  of  the  Vicomte  de  Morf.eyn." 

"  Monsieur  Marche/' said  the  young  dragoon  officer, 
respectfully,  "  is  a  friend  of  General  Farron." 

ts  I  had  the  honour  to  be  attached  as  correspondent 
to  his  staff — in  Oran,"  said  Jack. 

The  old  general  held  out  his  hand  with  a  gesture 
entirely  charming. 

"  I  envy  General  Farron  your  friendship,"  he  said. 
"  I  had  a  son— perhaps  your  age.  He  died— yester 
day."  After  a  silence,  he  said  :  "  There  are  ladies  in 
the  Chateau  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack,  soberly. 


THE  WHITE  CROSS  263 

The  general  turned  with  a  gesture  towards  the 
woods.  "It  is  too  late  to  move  them ;  we  are,  it  ap 
pears,  fairly  well  walled  in.  The  cellar,  in  case  of 
bombardment,  is  the  best  you  can  do  for  them.  How 
many  are  there  ?" 

e(  Two,  general.     One  is  a  Sister  of  Mercy. " 

Other  officers  began  to  gather  on  the  terrace,  glasses 
persistently  focussed  on  the  nearer  woods.  Somebody 
called  to  an  officer  below  the  terrace  to  hurry  the 
cannon. 

Jack  made  his  way  through  the  throng  of  officers 
to  the  stairs,  mounted  them,  and  knocked  at  Lor 
raine's  door. 

"  Is  it  you— Jack  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Come." 

He  went  in. 

Lorraine  lay  on  the  bed,  quiet  and  pale  ;  it  startled 
him  to  see  her  so  calm.  For  an  instant  he  hesitated 
on  the  threshold,  then  went  slowly  to  the  bedside. 
She  held  out  one  hand ;  he  took  it. 

"  I  cannot  cry/'  she  said ;  "  I  cannot.  Sit  beside  me, 
Jack.  Listen  :  I  am  wicked — I  have  not  a  single  tear 
for  my  father.  I  have  been  here — so — all  night  long. 
I  prayed  to  weep  ;  I  cannot.  I  understand  he  is  dead 
— that  I  shall  never  again  wait  for  him,  watch  at  his 
door  in  the  turret,  dream  he  is  calling  me ;  I  under 
stand  that  he  will  never  call  me  again — never  again — - 
never.  And  I  cannot  weep.  Do  you  hate  me  ?  I  am 
tired — so  tired,  like  a  child — very  young." 

She  raised  her  other  hand  and  laid  it  in  his.  "  I 
need  you,"  she  said  ;  "  I  am  too  tired,  too  young,  to 
be  so  alone.  It  is  myself  I  suffer  for ;  think,  Jack, 


384  LORRAINE  I 

myself,  in  such  a  moment,  I  am  selfish,  I  know  it. 
Oh,  if  I  could  weep  now  !  Why  can  I  not  ?  I  loved 
my  father.  And  now  I  can  only  think  of  his  little 
machines  in  the  turret  and  his  balloon,  and — oh  ! — I 
only  remember  the  long  days  of  my  life  when  I  wait 
ed  on  the  turret  stairs  hoping  he  would  come  out, 
dreaming  he  would  come  some  day  and  take  me  in 
his  arms  and  kiss  me  and  hold  me  close,  as  I  am  to 
you.  And  now  he  never  will.  And  I  waited  all  my 
life  !" 

"Hush!"  he  whispered,  touching  her  hair;  "you 
are  feverish." 

Her  head  was  pressed  close  to  him ;  his  arms  held 
her  tightly ;  she  sighed  like  a  restless  child. 

"  Never  again — never — for  he  is  dead.  And  yet  I 
could  have  lived  forever,  waiting  for  him  on  the  turret 
stairs.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Holding  her  strained  to  his  breast  he  trembled  at 
the  fierce  hopelessness  in  her  voice.  In  a  moment  he 
recognized  that  a  crisis  was  coming ;  that  she  was 
utterly  irresponsible,  utterly  beyond  reasoning.  Like 
a  spectre  her  loveless  childhood  had  risen  and  con 
fronted  her ;  and  now  that  there  was  no  longer  even 
hope,  she  had  turned  desperately  upon  herself  with 
the  blank  despair  of  a  wounded  animal.  End  it  all ! — • 
that  was  her  one  impulse.  He  felt  it  already  taking 
shape  ;  she  shivered  in  his  arms. 

"  But  there  is  a  God — "  he  began,  fearfully. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  vacant  eyes,  hot  and 
burning. 

He  tried  again  :  "  I  love  you,  Lorraine — " 

Her  straight  brows  knitted  and  she  struggled  to 
free  herself. 


THE  WHITE  CROSS  235 

"  Let  me  go  !"  she  whispered.  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
live— I  can't !— I  can't !" 

Then  he  played  his  last  card,  and,  holding  her  close, 
looked  straight  into  her  eyes. 

"  France  needs  ns  all,"  he  said. 

She  grew  quiet.  Suddenly  the  warm  blood  dyed 
her  cheeks.  Then,  drop  by  drop,  the  tears  came ;  her 
sweet  face,  wet  and  flushed,  nestled  quietly  close  to 
his  own  face. 

"  We  will  both  live  for  that/'  he  said  ;  "we  will  do 
what  we  can." 

For  an  hour  she  lay  sobbing  her  heart  out  in  his 
arms;  and  when  she  was  quiet  at  last  he  told  her 
how  the  land  lay  trembling  under  the  invasion,  how 
their  armies  had  struggled  and  dwindled  and  lost 
ground,  how  France,  humbled,  drenched  with  blood 
and  tears,  still  stood  upright  calling  to  her  children. 
He  spoke  of  the  dead,  the  dying,  the  mutilated  creat 
ures  gasping  out  their  souls  in  the  ditches. 

"Life, is  worth  living,"  he  said.  "If  our  place  is 
not  in  the  field  with  the  wounded,  not  in  the  hos 
pital,  not  in  the  prisons  where  these  boys  are  herded 
like  diseased  cattle,  then  it  is  perhaps  at  the  shrine's 
foot.  Pray  for  France,  Lorraine,  pray  and  work,  for 
there  is  work  to  do." 

"There  is  work;  we  will  go  together,"  she  whis 
pered. 

"Yes,  together.  Perhaps  we  can  help  a  little. 
Your  father,  when  he  died,  had  the  steel  box  with 
him.  Lorraine,  when  he  is  found  and  is  laid  to  rest, 
we  will  take  that  box  to  the  French  lines.  The  secret 
must  belong  to  France  !" 

She  was  eager  enough  now ;  she  sat  up  on  the  bed 


236  LORRAINE  1 

and  listened  with  bright,  wet  eyes  while  he  told  her 
what  they  two  might  do  for  her  land  of  France. 

"  Dear — dear  Jack  I"  she  cried,  softly. 

But  he  knew  that  it  was  not  the  love  of  a  maid  for 
a  man  that  parted  her  lips ;  it  was  the  love  of  the  land, 
of  her  land  of  Lorraine,  that  fierce,  passionate  love  of 
soil  that  had  at  last  blazed  up,  purified  in  the  long  years 
of  a  loveless  life.  All  that  she  had  felt  for  her  father 
turned  to  a  burning  thrill  for  her  country.  It  is  such 
moments  that  make  children  defenders  of  barricades, 
that  make  devils  or  saints  of  the  innocent.  The 
maid  that  rode  in  mail,  crowned,  holding  aloft  the 
banner  of  the  fleur-de-lys,  died  at  the  stake  ;  her  ashes 
were  the  ashes  of  a  saint.  The  maid  who  flung  her  bul 
lets  from  the  barricade,  who  carried  a  dagger  to  the 
Kue  Haxo,  who  spat  in  the  faces  of  the  line  when  they 
shoved  her  to  the  wall  in  the  Luxembourg,  died  too 
for  France.  Her  soul  is  the  soul  of  a  martyr  ;  but  all 
martyrs  are  not  saints. 

For  another  hour  they  sat  there,  planning,  devis 
ing,  eager  to  begin  their  predestined  work.  They 
spoke  of  the  dead,  too,  and  Lorraine  wept  at  last  for 
her  father. 

"  There  was  a  Sister  of  Mercy  here,"  she  said  ;  "I 
saw  her.  I  could  not  speak  to  her.  Later  I  knew  it 
was  Alixe.  You  called  her  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Shall  I  speak  to  her  ?" 

He  went  out  into  the  hall  and  tapped  at  the  door 
of  the  next  room. 

"  Alixe  ?" 

"Yes— Jack." 


THE   WHITE    CROSS  237 

He  entered. 

Sir  Thorald  lay  very  still  under  the  sheets,  the 
crucifix  on  his  breast.  At  first  Jack  thought  lie  was 
dead,  but  the  slight  motion  of  the  chest  under  the 
sheets  reassured  him.  He  turned  to  Alixe  : 

"Go  for  a  minute  and  comfort  Lorraine/'  he  whis 
pered.  "Go,  my  child." 

"  I— I  cannot—-" 

"  Go/'  said  Sir  Thorald,  in  a  distinct  voice. 

When  she  had  gone,  Jack  bent  over  Sir  Thorald. 
A  great  pity  filled  him,  and  he  touched  the  half -opened 
hand  with  his  own. 

Sir  Thorald  looked  up  at  him  wistfully. 

"I  am  not  worth  it,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  we  all  are  worth  it." 

"  I  am  not,"  gasped  Sir  Thorald.  "  Jack,  you  are 
good.  Do  you  believe,  at  least,  that  I  loved  her  ?" 

"Yes,  if  you  say  so." 

"  I  do — in  the  shadow  of  death." 

Jack  was  silent. 

"I  never  loved — before,"  said  Sir  Thorald. 

In  the  stillness  that  followed  Jack  tried  to  com 
prehend  the  good  or  evil  in  this  stricken  man.  He 
could  not ;  he  only  knew  that  a  great  love  that  a  man 
might  bear  a  woman  made  necessary  a  great  sacri 
fice  if  that  love  were  unlawful.  The  greater  the  love 
the  more  certain  the  sacrifice — self-sacrifice  on  the 
altar  of  unselfish  love,  for  there  is  no  other  kind  of 
love  that  man  may  bear  for  woman. 

It  wearied  Jack  to  try  to  think  it  out.  He  could 
not ;  he  only  knew  that  it  was  not  his  to  judge  or  to 
condemn. 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  hand  ?"  asked  Sir  Thorald. 


238  LORRAINE  ! 

Jack  laid  his  hand  in  the  other's  feverish  one. 

"  Don't  call  her/'  he  said,  distinctly ;  "  I  am  dy- 
ing." 

Presently  he  withdrew  his  hand  and  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall. 

For  a  long  time  Jack  sat  there,  waiting.  At  last 
he  spoke  :  "  Sir  Thorald  ?" 

But  Sir  Thorald  had  been  dead  for  an  hour. 

When  Alixe  entered  Jack  took  her  slim,  childish 
hands  and  looked  into  her  e}Tes.  She  understood  and 
went  to  her  dead,  laying  down  her  tired  little  head 
on  the  sheeted  breast. 


XXII 

A  DOOE  IS  LOCKED 

LORRAINE  stood  on  the  terrace  beside  the  brass 
gatling-gun,  both  hands  holding  to  Jack's  arm,  watch 
ing  the  soldiers  stuffing  the  windows  of  the  Chateau 
with  mattresses,  quilts,  and  bedding  of  all  kinds. 

A  stream  of  engineers  was  issuing  from  the  hall 
way,  carrying  tables,  chairs,  barrels,  and  chests  to  the 
garden  below,  where  other  soldiers  picked  them  up 
and  bore  them  across  the  lawn  to  the  rear  of  the 
house. 

"They  are  piling  all  the  furniture  they  can  get 
against  the  gate  in  the  park  wall,"  said  Jack  ;  "  come 
out  to  the  kitchen-garden." 

She  went  with  him,  still  holding  to  his  arm.  Across 
the  vegetable  garden  a  barricade  of  furniture — sofas, 
chairs,  and  wardrobes — lay  piled  against  the  wooden 
gate  of  the  high  stone  wall.  Engineers  were  piercing 
the  wall  with  crowbars  and  pickaxes,  loosening  the 
cement,  dragging  out  huge  blocks  of  stone  to  make 
embrasures  for  three  cannon  that  stood  with  their 
limbers  among  the  broken  bell-glasses  and  cucumber- 
frames  in  the  garden. 

A  ladder  lay  against  the  wall,  and  on  it  was  perched 
an  officer,  who  rested  his  field-glasses  across  the  tiled 
top  and  stood  studying  the  woods.  Below  him  a  gen- 


240  LORRAINE ! 

eral  and  half  a  dozen  officers  watched  the  engineers 
hacking  at  the  wall ;  a  long,  donble  line  of  infantry 
crouched  behind  them,  the  bugler  kneeling,  glancing 
anxiously  at  his  captain,  who  stood  talking  to  a  fat 
sub-officer  in  capote  and  boots. 

Artillerymen  were  gathered  about  the  ammunition- 
chests,  opening  the  lids  and  carrying  shell  and  shrap 
nel  to  the  wall ;  the  balconies  of  the  Chateau  were 
piled  up  with  breastworks  of  rugs,  boxes,  and  sacks 
of  earth.  Here  and  there  a  rifleman  stood,  his  chasse- 
pot  resting  on  the  iron  railing,  his  face  turned  towards 
the  woods. 

"  They  are  coming,"  said  a  soldier,  calling  back  to 
a  comrade,  who  only  laughed  and  passed  on  towards 
the  kitchen,  loaded  down  with  sacks  of  flour. 

A  restless  movement  passed  through  the  kneeling 
battalion  of  infantry. 

"  Fiche  moi  la  paix,  hein  I"  muttered  a  lieutenant, 
looking  resentfully  at  a  gossiping  farrier.  Another 
lieutenant  drew  his  sword,  and  wiped  it  on  the  sleeve 
of  his  jacket. 

"  Are  they  coming  ?"  asked  Lorraine. 

<(I  don't  know.  Watch  that  officer  on  the  wall. 
He  seems  to  see  nothing  yet.  Don't  you  think  you 
had  better  go  to  the  rear  of  the  house  now  ?" 

"  No,  not  unless  you  do." 

"I  will,  then." 

"No,  stay  here.  I  am  not  afraid.  Where  is 
Alixe  ?" 

(t  With  the  wounded  men  in  the  stable.  They  have 
hoisted  the  red  cross  over  the  barn  ;  did  you  notice  ?" 

Before  she  could  answer,  one  of  the  soldiers  on  the 
balcony  of  the  Chateau  fired.  Another  rose  from  be- 


A  DOOR  li  LOCKED  241 

hind  a  mattress  and  fired  also ;  then  half  a  dozen 
shots  rang  out,  and  the  smoke  whirled  up  over  the 
roof  of  the  house.  The  officer  on  the  ladder  was 
motioning  to  the  group  of  officers  below ;  already 
the  artillerymen  were  running  the  three  cannon  for 
ward  to  the  port-holes  that  had  been  pierced  in  the 
park  wall. 

"  Come,"  said  Jack. 

"  Not  yet — I  am  not  frightened." 

A  loud  explosion  enveloped  the  wall  in  sulphurous 
clouds,  and  a  cannon  jumped  back  in  recoil.  The 
cannoneers  swarmed  around  it,  there  was  a  quick 
movement  of  a  sponger,  an  order,  a  falling  into  place 
of  rigid  artillerymen,  then  bang  !  and  another  up-rush 
of  smoke.  And  now  the  other  cannon  joined  in — 
crash  !  bang  ! — and  the  garden  swam  in  the  swirling 
fog.  Infantry,  too,  were  firing  all  along  the  wall, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  the  rippling  crash 
of  the,  gatling-gun  rolled  with  the  rolling  volleys. 
Jack  led  Lorraine  to  the  rear  of  the  Chateau,  but  she 
refused  to  stay,  and  he  reluctantly  followed  her  into 
the  house. 

From  every  mattress-stuffed  window  the  red-legged 
soldiers  were  firing  out  across  the  lawn  towards  the 
woods ;  the  smoke  drifted  back  into  the  house  in  thin 
shreds  that  soon  filled  the  rooms  with  a  blue  haze. 

Suddenly  something  struck  the  chandelier  and 
shattered  it  to  the  gilt  candle  -  sockets.  Lorraine 
looked  at  it,  startled,  but  another  bullet  whizzed  into 
the  room,  starring  the  long  mirror,  and  another 
knocked  the  plaster  from  the  fireplace.  Jack  had 
her  out  of  the  room  in  a  second,  and  presently  they 
found  themselves  in  the  cellar,  the  very  cement  be- 

16 


242  LORHAINE  ! 

neath  their  feet  shaking  under  the  tremendous  shocks 
of  the  cannon. 

"  Wait  for  me.     Do  you  promise,  Lorraine  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  hurried  up  to  the  terrace  again,  and  out  across 
the  gravel  drive  to  the  stable. 

"Alixe!"  he  called. 

She  came  quietly  to  him,  her  arms  full  of  linen 
bandages.  There  was  nothing  of  fear  or  terror  in 
her  cheeks,  nothing  even  of  grief  now,  but  her  eyes 
transfigured  her  face,  and  he  scarcely  knew  it. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Nothing.  The  wounded  are  quiet.  Is  there 
water  in  the  well  ?" 

He  brought  her  half  a  dozen  buckets,  one  after 
another,  and  set  them  side  by  side  in  the  harness- 
room,  where  three  or  four  surgeons  lounged  around 
two  kitchen  -  tables,  on  which  sponges,  basins,  and 
cases  of  instruments  lay.  There  was  a  sickly  odour 
of  ether  in  the  air,  mingled  with  the  rank  stench  of 
carbolic  acid. 

"  Lorraine  is  in  the  cellar.  Do  you  need  her  ? 
Surely  not — when  I  am  ready,"  he  said. 

"  No ;  go  and  stay  with  her.  If  I  need  you  I  will 
send.", 

He  could  scarcely  hear  her  in  the  tumult  and  din, 
but  he  understood  and  nodded,  watching  her  busy 
with  her  lint  and  bandages.  As  he  turned  to  go, 
the  first  of  the  wounded,  a  mere  boy,  was  brought 
in  on  the  shoulders  of  a  comrade.  Jack  heard  him 
scream  as  they  laid  him  on  the  table ;  then  he  went 
soberly  away  to  the  cellar  where  Lorraine  sat,  her 
face  in  her  hands. 


A  DOOR  IS  LOCKED  243 

"We  are  holding  the  Chateau/'  he  said.  "  Will  you 
stay  quietly  for  a  little  while  longer,  if  I  go  out  again?" 

"  If  you  wish/'  she  said. 

He  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  He  did  not ; 
he  merely  said,  "Wait  for  me/'  and  went  away  again 
out  into  the  smoke. 

From  the  upper -story  windows,  where  he  had 
climbed,  he  could  see  to  the  edge  of  the  forest.  Al 
ready  three  columns  of  men  had  started  out  from  the 
trees  across  the  meadow  towards  the  park  wall.  They 
advanced  slowly  and  steadily,  firing  as  they  came  on. 
Somewhere,  in  the  smoke,  a  Prussian  band  was  play 
ing  gayly,  and  Jack  thought  of  the  Bavarians  at  the 
Geisberg,  and  their  bands  playing  as  the  men  fell  like 
leaves  in  the  Chateau  gardens. 

He  had  his  field-glasses  with  him,  and  he  fixed  them 
on  the  advancing  columns.  They  were  Bavarians, 
after  all — there  was  no  mistaking  the  light-blue  uni 
forms  and  fur-crested  helmets.  And  now  he  made 
out  their  band,  plodding  stolidly  along,  trombones 
and  bass -drums  wheezing  and  banging  away  in  the 
rifle-smoke ;  he  could  even  see  the  band-master  swing 
ing  his  halberd  forward. 

Suddenly  the  nearest  column  broke  into  a  heavy 
run,  cheering  hoarsely.  The  other  columns  came  on 
with  a  rush  ;  the  band  halted,  playing  them  in  at  the 
death  with  a  rollicking  quickstep  ;  then  all  was  blotted 
out  in  the  pouring  cannon  -  smoke.  Flash  on  flash 
the  explosions  followed  each  other,  lighting  the  gloom 
with  a  wavering  yellow  glare,  and  on  the  terrace  the 
gatling  whirred  and  spluttered  its  slender  streams  of 
flame,  while  the  treble  crash  of  the  chassepots  roared 
accompaniment. 


244  LORRAINE  \ 

Once  or  twice  Jack  thought  he  heard  the  rattle  of 
their  little  harsh,  flat  drums,  but  he  could  see  them 
no  longer ;  they  were  in  that  smoke-pall  somewhere, 
coming  on  towards  the  park  wall. 

Bugles  began  to  sound — French  bugles — clear  and 
sonorous.  Across  the  lawn  by  the  river  a  battalion 
of  French  infantry  were  running,  firing  as  they  ran. 
He  saw  them  settle  at  last  like  quail  among  the  stub 
ble,  curling  up  and  crouching  in  groups  and  bevies, 
alert  heads  raised.  Then  the  firing  rippled  along 
the  front,  and  the  lawn  became  gray  with  smoke. 

As  he  went  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  garden  he 
heard  the  soldiers  saying  that  the  charge  had  been 
checked.  The  wounded  were  being  borne  towards 
the  barn,  long  lines  of  them,  heads  and  limbs  hang 
ing  limp.  A  horse  in  the  garden  was  ending  a  death- 
struggle  among  the  cucumber  -  frames,  and  the  bat 
tery-men  were  cutting  the  traces  to  give  him  free 
play.  Upon  the  roof  a  thin  column  of  smoke  and 
sparks  rose,  where  a  Prussian  shell — the  first  as  yet — 
had  fallen  and  exploded  in  the  garret.  Some  soldiers 
were  knocking  the  sparks  from  the  roof  with  the  butts 
of  their  rifles. 

When  he  went  into  the  cellar  again  Lorraine  was 
pacing  restlessly  along  the  wine-bins. 

"I  cannot  stay  here,"  she  said.  "Jack,  get  some 
bottles  of  brandy  and  come  to  the  barn.  The  wounded 
will  need  them." 

"  You  cannot  go  out.     I  will  take  them." 

"  No,  I  shall  go." 

"  I  ask  you  not  to." 

"  Let  me,  Jack,"  she  said,  coming  up  to  him — 
"  with  you." 


A  DOOR  IS  LOCKED  245 

He  could  not  make  her  listen  ;  she  went  with  him, 
her  slender  arms  loaded  with  bottles.  The  shells 
were  falling  in  the  garden  now ;  one  burst  and  flung 
a  shower  of  earth  and  glass  over  them. 

"  ilurry  I"  he  said.  "  Are  you  crazy,  Lorraine, 
to  come  out  into  this  ?" 

"  Don't  scold,  Jack,"  she  whispered. 

When  she  entered  the  stable  he  breathed  more 
freely.  He  watched  her  face  narrowly,  but  she  did 
not  blanch  at  the  sickening  spectacle  of  the  surgeons' 
tables. 

They  placed  their  bottles  of  brandy  along  the  side 
of  a  box-stall,  and  stood  together  watching  the  file 
of  wounded  passing  in  at  the  door. 

"  They  do  not  need  us  here,  yet,"  he  said.  "  I 
wonder  where  Alixe  is  ?" 

"  There  is  a  Sister  of  Mercy  out  on  the  skirmish- 
line  across  the  lawn,"  said  a  soldier  of  the  hospital 
corps,  pointing  with  bloody  hands  towards  the  smoke- 
veiled  river. 

Jack  looked  at  Lorraine  in  utter  despair. 

*'*  I  must  go ;  she  can't  stay  there,"  he  muttered. 

"  Yes,  you  must  go,"  repeated  Lorraine.  "'  She 
will  be  shot." 

"  Will  you  wait  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

So  he  went  away,  thinking  bitterly  that  she  did  not 
care  whether  he  lived  or  died — that  she  let  him  leave 
her  without  a  word  of  fear,  of  kindness.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  he  realized  that  she  had  never,  after  all, 
been  touched  by  his  devotion ;  that  she  had  never  un 
derstood,  nor  cared  to  understand,  his  love  for  her. 

He  walked  out  across  the  smoky  lawn,  the  din  of  the 
17 


946  LORRAINE  ! 

rifles  in  his  ears,  the  bitterness  of  death  in  his  heart. 
He  knew  he  was  going  into  danger — that  he  was  al 
ready  in  peril.  Bullets  whistled  through  the  smoke 
as  he  advanced  towards  the  firing-line,  where,  in  the 
£og,  dim  figures  were  outlined  here  and  there.  He 
passed  an  officer,  standing  with  bared  sword,  watch 
ing  his  men  digging  up  the  sod  and  piling  it  into  low 
breastworks.  He  went  on,  passing  others,  sometimes 
two  soldiers  bearing  a  wounded  man,  now  and  then 
a  maimed  creature  writhing  on  the  grass  or  hobbling 
away  to  the  rear.  The  battle-line  lay  close  to  him 
now — long  open  ranks  of  men,  flat  on  their  stomachs, 
firing  into  the  smoke  across  the  river-bank.  Their 
officers  loomed  up  in  the  gloom,  some  leaning  quietly 
back  on  their  sword-hilts,  some  pacing  to  and  fro, 
smoking,  or  watchfully  steadying  the  wearied  men. 

Almost  at  once  he  saw  Alixe.  She  was  standing 
beside  a  tall  wounded  officer,  giving  him  something 
to  drink  from  a  tin  cup. 

" Alixe,"  said  Jack,  "this  is  not  your  place/* 

She  looked  at  him  tranquilly  as  the  wounded  man 
was  led  away  by  a  soldier  of  the  hospital  corps. 

"It  is  my  place." 

"No,"  he  said,  violently,  "you  are  trying  to  find 
death  here  !" 

"  I  seek  nothing,"  she  said,  in  a  gentle,  tired  voice ; 
"let  me  go." 

"  Come  back.     Alixe — your  brother  is  alive. " 

She  looked  at  him  impassively. 

"My  brother?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  no  brother." 

He  understood  and  chafed  inwardly. 


A  DOOR  IB  LOCKED  247 

"  Come,  Alixe,"  he  arged ;  "  for  Heaven's  sake,  try 
to  live  and  forget — " 

"I  have  nothing  to  forget  —  everything  to  re 
member.  Let  me  pass."  She  touched  the  blood 
stained  cross  on  her  breast.  "  Do  yon  not  see  ?  That 
was  white  once.  So  was  my  soul." 

"  It  is  now,"  he  said,  gently.     "  Come  back." 

A  wounded  man  somewhere  in  the  smoke  called, 
"  Water  !  water !  In  the  name  of  God  !  —  my  sis 
ter—" 

"  I  am  coming  !"  called  Alixe,  clearly. 

"  To  me  first !  Hasten,  my  sister !"  groaned  an 
other. 

•*  Patience,  children — I  come  !"  called  Alixe. 

With  a  gesture  she  passed  Jack  ;  a  flurry  of  smoke 
hid  her.  The  pungent  powder -fog  made  his  eyes 
dim ;  his  ears  seemed  to  split  with  the  terrific  volley 
firing. 

He  turned  away  and  went  back  across  the  lawn, 
only  to  stop  at  the  well  in  the  garden,  fill  two  buckets, 
and  plod  back  to  the  firing-line  again.  He  found 
plenty  to  do  there ;  he  helped  Alixe,  following  her  with 
his  buckets  where  she  passed  among  the  wounded, 
the  stained  cross  on  her  breast.  Once  a  bullet  struck 
a  pail  full  of  water,  and  he  held  his  finger  in  the  hole 
until  the  water  was  all  used  up.  Twice  he  heard 
cheering  and  the  splash  of  cavalry  in  the  shallow 
river,  but  they  seemed  to  be  beaten  off  again,  and  he 
went  about  his  business,  listless,  sombre,  a  dead  weight 
at  his  heart. 

He  had  been  kneeling  beside  a  wounded  man  for 
some  minutes  when  he  became  conscious  that  the  fir 
ing  had  almost  oeaseci.  Bugles  were  sounding  near 


248  LORRAINE  ! 

the  Chateau ;  long  files  of  troops  passed  him  in  the 
lifting  smoke  ;  officers  shouted  along  the  river-bank. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  around  for  Alixe. 
She  was  not  in  sight.  He  walked  towards  the  river- 
bank,  watching  for  her,  but  he  could  not  find  her. 

"  Did  you  see  a  Sister  of  Mercy  pass  this  way  ?"  he 
asked  an  officer  who  sat  on  the  grass,  smoking  and 
bandaging  his  foot. 

A  soldier  passing,  using  his  rifle  as  a  crutch,  said : 
"  I  saw  a  Sister  of  Mercy.  She  went  towards  the 
Chateau.  I  think  she  was  hurt." 

"Hurt!" 

"I  heard  somebody  say  so."  Jack  turned  and 
hastened  towards  the  stables.  He  crossed  the  lawn, 
threaded  his  way  among  the  low  sod  breastworks, 
where  the  infantry  lay  grimy  and  exhausted,  and  en 
tered  the  garden.  She  was  not  there.  He  hurried 
to  the  stables  ;  Lorraine  met  him,  holding  a  basin  and 
a  sponge. 

"Where  is  Alixe  ?"  he  asked. 

"  She  is  not  here,"  said  Lorraine.  ' '  Has  she  been 
hurt  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  turned  away, 
coldly.  On  the  terrace  the  artillerymen  were  spong 
ing  the  blood  from  the  breech  of  their  gatling  where 
some  wretch's  brains  had  been  spattered  by  a  shell- 
fragment.  They  told  him  that  a  Sister  of  Mercy  had 
passed  into  the  house  ten  minutes  before ;  that  she 
walked  as  though  very  tired,  but  did  not  appear  to 
have  been  hurt. 

"She  is  up -stairs,"  he  thought.  "She  must  not 
gtay  there  alone  with  Sir  Thorald."  And  he  climbed 


A  DOOR  IS  LOCKED  249 

the  stairs  and  knocked  softly  at  the  dooi  of  the  death- 
chamber. 

"  Alixe,"  he  said,  gently,  opening  the  door,  "  you 
must  not  stay  here/' 

She  was  kneeling  at  the  bedside,  her  face  buried  on 
the  breast  of  the  dead  man. 

"  Alixe,"  he  said,  but  his  voice  broke  in  spite  of 
him,  and  he  went  to  her  and  touched  her. 

Very  tenderly  he  raised  her  head,  looked  into  her 
eyes,  then  quietly  turned  away. 

Outside  the  door  he  met  Lorraine. 

"  Don't  go  in,"  he  murmured. 

She  looked  fearfully  up  into  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  " she  was  shot  through  the  body." 

Then  he  closed  the  door  and  turned  the  key  on 
the  outside,  leaving  the  dead  to  the  dead. 


XXIII 
LORRAINE    SLEEPS 

THE  next  day  the  rain  fell  in  torrents  ;  long,  yellow 
streams  of  water  gushed  from  pipe  and  culvert,  turn 
ing  the  roads  to  lakes  of  amber  and  the  trodden  lawns 
to  sargasso  seas. 

Not  a  shot  had  been  fired  since  twilight  of  the  day 
before,  although  on  the  distant  hills  Uhlans  were  seen 
racing  about,  gathering  in  groups,  or  sitting  on  their 
horses  in  solitary  observation  of  the  Chateau. 

Out  on  the  meadows,  between  the  park  wall  and 
the  fringe  of  nearer  forest,  the  Bavarian  dead  lay, 
dotting  the  green  pelouse  with  blots  of  pale  blue; 
the  wounded  had  been  removed  to  the  cover  of  the 
woods. 

Around  the  Chateau  the  sallow -faced  fantassins 
slopped  through  the  mire,  the  artillery  trains  lay  glis 
tening  under  their  waterproof  coverings,  the  long, 
slim  cannon  in  the  breeches  dripped  with  rain. 
Bright  blotches  of  rust,  like  brilliant  fungi,  grew  and 
spread  from  muzzle  to  vent.  These  were  rubbed  away 
at  times  by  stiff-limbed  soldiers,  swathed  to  the  eyes 
in  blue  overcoats. 

The  line  of  battle  stretched  from  the  Chateau  Mor- 
teyn,  parallel  with  the  river  and  the  park  wall,  to  the 
Chateau  de  Nesville  ;  and  along  this  line  the  officers 


LORRAINE  SLEEPS  261 

were  riding  all  day,  muffled  to  the  chin  in  their  great 
coats,  crimson  caps  soaked,  rain-drops  gathering  in 
brilliant  beads  under  the  polished  visors.  That  they 
expected  a  shelling  was  evident,  for  the  engineers 
were  at  work  excavating  pits  and  burrows,  and  the 
infantry  were  filling  sacks  with  earth,  while  in  the 
Chateau  itself  preparations  were  in  progress  for  the 
fighting  of  fire. 

The  white  flag  with  the  red-cross  centre  hung  limp 
and  drenched  over  the  stables  and  barns.  In  the 
corn-field  beyond,  long  trenches  were  being  dug  for 
the  dead.  Already  two  such  trenches  had  been  filled 
and  covered  over  with  dirt ;  and  at  the  head  of  each 
soldier's  grave  a  bayonet  or  sabre  was  driven  into  the 
ground  for  a  head-stone. 

Early  that  morning,  while  the  rain  drove  into  the 
ground  in  one  sheeted  downpour,  they  buried  Sir  Tho- 
rald  and  little  Alixe,  side  by  side,  on  the  summit 
of  a  mound  overlooking  the  river  Lisse.  Jack  drove 
the  tumbril ;  four  soldiers  of  the  line  followed.  It 
was  soon  over ;  the  mellow  bugle  sounded  a  brief 
"lights  out,"  the  linesmen  presented  arms.  Then 
Jack  mounted  the  cart  and  drove  back,  his  head  on 
his  breast,  the  rain  driving  coldly  in  his  face.  Some 
officers  caine  later  with  a  rough  wooden  cross  and  a 
few  field  flowers.  They  hammered  the  cross  deep 
into  the  mud  between  Sir  Thorald  and  little  Alixe. 
Later  still  Jack  returned  with  a  spade  and  worked  for 
an  hour,  shaping  the  twin  mounds.  Before  he  fin 
ished  he  saw  Lorraine  climbing  the  hill.  Two  wreaths 
of  yellow  gorse  hung  from  one  arm,  interlaced  like 
thorn  crowns ;  and  when  she  came  up,  Jack,  leaning 
silently  on  his  spade,  saw  that  her  fair  hands  were 


252  LORRAINE  ! 

cut  and  bleeding  from  plaiting  the  thorn  -  covered 
blossoms. 

They  spoke  briefly,  almost  coldly.  Lorraine  hung 
the  two  wreaths  over  the  head-piece  of  the  cross  and, 
kneeling,  signed  herself. 

When  she  rose  Jack  replaced  his  cap,  but  said  noth 
ing.  They  stood  side  by  side,  looking  out  across  the 
woods,  where,  behind  a  curtain  of  mist  and  rain,  the 
single  turret  of  the  Chateau  de  Nesville  was  hidden. 

She  seemed  restless  and  preoccupied,  and  he,  an 
swering  aloud  her  unasked  question,  said,  ' ( I  ain 
going  to  search  the  forest  to-day.  I  cannot  bear  to 
leave  you,  but  it  must  be  done,  for  your  sake  and 
for  the  sake  of  France." 

She  answered  :  "  Yes,  it  must  be  done.  I  shall  go 
with  you." 

"You  cannot,"  he  said;  "there  is  danger  in  the 
forest." 

"You  are  going  ?" 

"  Yes." 

They  said  nothing  more  for  a  moment  or  two.  He 
was  thinking  of  Alixe  and  her  love  for  Sir  Thorald. 
Who  would  have  thought  it  could  have  turned  out 
so  ?  He  looked  down  at  the  river  Lisse,  where,  under 
the  trees  of  the  bank,  they  had  all  sat  that  day — a 
day  that  already  seemed  legendary,  so  far,  so  far  in 
the  mist-hung  landscape  of  the  past.  He  seemed  to 
hear  Molly  Hesketh's  voice,  soft,  ironical,  upbraid 
ing  Sir  Thorald ;  he  seemed  to  see  them  all  there  in 
the  sunshine — Dorothy,  Rickerl,  Cecil,  Betty  Castle- 
maine — he  even  saw  himself  strolling  up  to  them,  gun 
under  arm,  while  Sir  Thorald  waved  his  wine-cup  and 
bantered  him. 


LORRAINE   SLEEPS  253 

He  looked  at  the  river.  The  green  rowboat  lay  on 
tne  bank,  keel  up,  shattered  by  a  shell ;  the  trees 
were  covered  with  yellow,  seared  foliage  that  dropped 
continually  into  the  water ;  the  river  itself  was  a 
canal  of  mud.  And,  as  he  looked,  a  dead  man,  face 
under  water,  sped  past,  caught  on  something,  drift 
ed,  spun  giddily  in  an  eddy,  washed  to  and  fro,  then 
floated  on  under  the  trees. 

"  You  will  catch  cold  here  in  the  rain,"  he  said,  ab 
ruptly. 

"You  also,  Jack." 

They  walked  a  few  steps  towards  the  house,  then 
stopped  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"You  are  drenched,"  he  said;  "you  must  go  to 
your  room  and  lie  down." 

"  I  will — if  you  wish,"  she  answered. 

He  drew  her  rain-cloak  around  her,  buttoned  the 
capo  and  high  collar,  and  settled  the  hood  on  her 
head.  She  looked  up  under  her  pointed  hood. 

"Do  you  care  so  much  for  me  ?"  she  asked,  list 
lessly. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  right — always — forever  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  that — that  you  love  me  ?" 

"  I  have  always  loved  you." 

Still  she  looked  up  at  him  from  the  shadow  of  her 
hood. 

"  I  love  you,  Lorraine." 

One  arm  was  around  her  now,  and  with  the  other 
hand  he  held  both  of  hers. 

She  spoke,  her  eyes  on  his. 

"  I  loved  you  once.  I  did  not  know  it  then.  It 
was  the  first  night  there  on  the  terrace — when  they 
were  dancing.  I  loved  you  again — after  our  quarrel, 


254  LORBAINE  t 

when  you  fonnd  me  by  the  river.  Again  I  loved  yon, 
when  we  were  alone  in  the  Chateau  and  you  came  to 
see  me  in  the  library." 

He  drew  her  to  him,  but  she  resisted. 

"  Now  it  is  different,"  she  said.  ' '  I  do  not  love 
you — like  that.  I  do  not  know  what  I  feel ;  I  do  not 
care  for  that — for  that  love.  I  need  something  warm 
er,  stronger,  more  kindly  —  something  I  never  have 
had.  My  childhood  is  gone,  Jack,  and  yet  I  am 
tortured  with  the  craving  for  it ;  I  want  to  be  little 
again — I  want  to  play  with  children — with  young 
girls  ;  I  want  to  be  tired  with  pleasure  and  go  to  bed 
with  a  mother  bending  over  me.  It  is  that — it  is  that 
that  I  need,  Jack — a  mother  to  hold  me  as  you  do. 
Oh,  if  you  knew  —  if  you  knew  !  Beside  my  bed  I 
feel  about  in  the  dark,  half  asleep,  reaching  out  for 
the  mother  I  never  knew — the  mother  I  need.  I  pict 
ure  her ;  she  is  like  my  father,  only  she  is  always 
with  me.  I  lie  back  and  close  my  eyes  and  try  to 
think  that  she  is  there  in  the  dark — close — close.  Her 
cheeks  and  hands  are  warm ;  I  can  never  see  her  eyes, 
but  I  know  they  are  like  mine.  I  know,  too,  that 
she  has  always  been  with  me — from  the  years  that  I 
have  forgotten — always  with  me,  watching  me  that  I 
come  to  no  harm — anxious  for  me,  worrying  because 
my  head  is  hot  or  my  hands  cold.  In  my  half-sleep 
I  tell  her  things — little  intimate  things  that  she  must 
know.  We  talk  of  everything — of  papa,  of  the  house, 
of  my  pony,  of  the  woods  and  the  Lisse.  With  her 
I  have  spoken  of  you  often,  Jack.  And  now  all  is 
said ;  I  am  glad  you  let  me  tell  you,  Jack.  I  can  never 
love  you  like — like  that,  but  I  need  you,  and  you  will 
be  near  me,  always,  won't  you  ?  I  need  your  love. 


LORRAINE   SLEEPS  366 

Be  gentle,  be  firm  in  little  things.  Let  me  come  to 
you  and  fret.  You  are  all  I  have." 

The  intense  grief  in  her  face,  the  wide,  childish 
eyes,  the  cold  little  hands  tightening  in  his,  all  these 
touched  the  manhood  in  him,  and  he  answered  man 
fully,  putting  away  from  himself  all  that  was  weak 
or  selfish,  all  that  touched  on  love  of  man  for  woman : 

"  Let  me  be  all  you  ask,"  he  said.  "  My  love  is 
of  that  kind,  also." 

"  My  darling  Jack/'  she  murmured,  putting  both 
arms  around  his  neck. 

He  kissed  her  peacefully. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  Your  shoes  are  soaking.  I 
am  going  to  take  charge  of  you  now." 

When  they  entered  the  house  he  took  her  straight 
to  her  room,  drew  up  an  arm-chair,  lighted  the  fire, 
filled  a  foot-bath  with  hot  water,  and,  calmly  open 
ing  the  wardrobe,  pulled  out  a  warm  bath-robe.  Then, 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  he  knelt  and  unbut 
toned  her  shoes. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  111  be  back  in  five  minutes. 
Let  me  find  you  sitting  here,  with  your  feet  in  that 
hot  water." 

Before  she  could  answer,  he  went  out.  A  thrill  of 
comfort  passed  through  her  ;  she  drew  the  wet  stock 
ings  over  her  feet,  shivered,  slipped  out  of  skirt  and 
waist,  put  on  the  warm,  soft  bath-robe,  and,  sinking 
back  in  the  chair,  placed  both  little  white  feet  in  the 
f^ot-bath. 

"  I  am  ready,  Jack,"  she  called,  softly. 

He  came  in  with  a  tray  of  tea  and  toast  and  a  bit 
of  cold  chicken.  She  followed  his  movement  with 
«?ed,  shy  eyes,  wondering  at  his  knowledge  of  little 


256  LORRAINE  ! 

things.  They  ate  their  luncheon  together  by  the  fire. 
Twice  he  gravely  refilled  the  foot-bath  with  hotter 
water,  and  she  settled  back  in  her  soft,  warm  chair, 
sighing  contentment. 

After  a  while  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  read  to 
her — fairy  tales  from  Perranlt — legends  that  all  chil 
dren  know — all  children  who  have  known  mothers. 
Lorraine  did  not  know  them.  At  first  she  frowned 
a  little,  watching  him  dubiously,  but  little  by  little 
the  music  of  the  words  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
sweet,  vague  tales  crept  into  her  heart,  and  she  lis 
tened  breathless  to  the  stories,  older  than  Egypt — 
stories  that  will  outlast  the  last  pyramid. 

Once  he  laid  down  his  book  and  told  her  of  the 
Prince  of  Argolis  and  ^Ethra ;  of  the  sandals  and 
sword,  of  Medea,  and  of  the  wreathed  wine-cup.  He 
told  her,  too,  of  the  Isantee,  and  the  legends  of  the 
gray  gull,  of  Harpan  and  Chaske,  and  the  white  lodge 
of  hope. 

She  listened  like  a  tired  child,  her  wrist  curved 
under  her  chin,  the  bath -robe  close  to  her  throat. 
While  she  listened  she  moved  her  feet  gently  in  the 
hot  water,  nestling  back  with  the  thrill  of  the  warmth 
that  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

Then  they  were  silent,  their  eyes  on  each  other. 

Down -stairs  some  rain -soaked  officer  was  playing 
on  the  piano  old  songs  of  Lorraine  and  Alsace.  He 
tried  to  sing,  too,  but  his  voice  broke,  whether  from 
emotion  or  hoarseness  they  could  not  tell.  A  moment 
or  two  later  a  dripping  infantry  band  marched  out  to 
the  conservatory  and  began  to  play.  The  dismal  trom 
bone  vibrated  like  a  fog-horn,  the  wet  drums  buzzed 
and  clattered,  the  trumpets  wailed  with  the  rising 


LOBRAINE   SLEEPS  257 

wind  in  the  chimneys.  They  played  for  an  hour, 
then  stopped  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  ' '  Partons  pour 
la  Syrie,"  and  Jack  and  Lorraine  heard  them  tramp 
ling  away — slop,  slop — across  the  gravel  drive. 

The  fire  in  the  room  made  the  air  heavy,  and  he 
raised  one  window  a  little  way,  but  the  wet  wind  was 
rank  with  the  odour  of  disinfectants  and  ether  from 
the  stable  hospital,  and  he  closed  the  window  after  a 
moment. 

"  I  spent  all  the  morning  with  the  wounded/*  said 
Lorraine,  from  the  depths  of  her  chair.  The  child 
like  light  in  her  eyes  had  gone  ;  nothing  but  woman's 
sorrow  remained  in  their  gray-blue  depths. 

Jack  rose,  picked  up  a  big  soft  towel,  and,  deliber 
ately  lifting  one  of  her  feet  from  the  water,  rubbed 
it  until  it  turned  rosy.  Then  he  rubbed  the  other, 
wrapped  the  bath -robe  tightly  about  her,  lifted  her 
in  his  arms,  threw  back  the  bed-covers,  and  laid  her 
there  snug  and  warm. 

' '  Sleep/"  he  said. 

She  held  up  both  arms  with  a  divine  smile. 

"  Stay  with  me  until  I  sleep,"  she  murmured  drow 
sily.  Her  eyes  closed ;  one  hand  sought  his. 

After  a  while  she  fell  asleep. 


XXIV 
LORRAINE  AWAKES 

Lorraine  had  been  asleep  for  an  hour,  Jack 
stole  from  the  room  and  sought  the  old  general  who 
was  in  command  of  the  park.  He  found  him  on  the 
terrace,  smoking  and  watching  the  woods  through  his 
field-glasses. 

' '  Monsieur,"  said  Jack,  "  my  ward,  Mademoiselle 
de  Nesville,  is  asleep  in  her  chamber.  I  must  go  to 
the  forest  yonder  and  try  to  find  her  father's  body. 
I  dare  not  leave  her  alone  unless  I  may  confide  her  to 
you." 

" My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  accept  the  charge. 
Can  you  give  me  the  next  room  ?" 

"  The  next  room  is  where  our  little  Sister  of  Mercy 
died." 

"  I  have  journeyed  far  with  death — I  am  at  home 
in  death's  chamber,"  said  the  old  general.  He  fol 
lowed  Jack  to  the  death -room,  accompanied  by  his 
aide-de-camp. 

"It  will  do,"  he  said.  Then,  turning  to  an  aid, 
"  Place  a  sentry  at  the  next  door.  When  the  lady 
awakes,  call  me." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jack.  He  lingered  a  moment 
and  then  continued:  "If  I  am  shot  in  the  woods — 
it  I  don't  return— General  Chanzy  will  take  charge  ol 


LORRAINE   AWAKES  259 

Mademoiselle  de  Nesville,  for  my  uncle's  sake.  They 
are  sword-brothers/' 

"I  accept  the  responsibility/'  said  the  old  general, 
gravely. 

They  bowed  to  each  other,  and  Jack  went  out  and 
down  the  stairs  to  the  lawn.  For  a  moment  he  looked 
up  into  the  sky,  trying  to  remember  where  the  balloon 
might  have  been  when  Von  Steyr's  explosive  bullet 
set  it  on  fire.  Then  he  trudged  on  into  the  wood- 
road,  buckling  his  revolver  -  case  under  his  arm  and 
adjusting  the  cross-strap  of  his  field-glasses. 

Once  in  the  forest  he  breathed  more  freely.  There 
was  an  odour  of  rotting  leaves  in  the  wet  air ;  the 
branches  quivered  and  dripped,  and  the  tree-trunks, 
moist  and  black,  exhaled  a  rank  aroma  of  lichens  and 
rain-soaked  moss. 

Along  the  park  wall,  across  the  Lisse,  sentinels 
stood  in  the  rain,  peering  out  of  their  caped  over 
coats  or  rambling  along  the  river -bank.  A  spirit 
less  challenge  or  two  halted  him  for  a  few  moments, 
but  he  gave  the  word  and  passed  on.  Once  or  twice 
squads  met  him  and  passed  with  the  relief,  sick  boyish 
soldiers,  crusted  with  mud.  Twice  he  met  groups  of 
roving,  restless-eyed  franc-tireurs  in  straight  caps  and 
sheepskin  jackets,  but  they  did  not  molest  him  nor 
even  question  him  beyond  asking  the  time  of  day. 

And  now  he  passed  the  carrefour  where  he  and 
Lorraine  had  first  met.  Its  only  tenant  was  a  sen 
tinel,  yellow  with  jaundice,  who  seized  his  chassepot 
with  shaking  hands  and  called  a  shrill e(  Qui  Vive  ?" 

From  the  carrefour  Jack  turned  to  the  left  straight 
into  the  heart  of  the  forest.  He  risked  losing  his 
way ;  he  risked  more  than  that,  too,  for  a  shot  from 


260  LORRAINE  ! 

sentry  or  franc-tireur  was  not  improbable,  and,  more 
over,  nobody  knew  whether  Uhlans  were  in  the  woods 
or  not. 

As  he  advanced  the  forest  growth  became  thicker; 
nnderbrush,  long  uncut,  rose  higher  than  his  head. 
Over  logs  and  brush  tangles  he  pressed,  down  into  soft, 
boggy  gullys  deep  with  dead  leaves,  across  rapid,  dark 
brooks,  threads  of  the  river  Lisse,  over  stony  ledges, 
stumps,  windfalls,  and  on  towards  the  break  in  the 
trees  from  which,  on  clear  days,  one  could  see  the 
turret -spire  of  the  Chateau  de  Nesville.  When  he 
reached  this  point  he  looked  in  vain  for  the  turret ; 
the  rain  hid  it.  Still,  he  could  judge  fairly  well  in 
which  direction  it  lay,  and  he  knew  that  the  distance 
was  half  a  mile. 

"  The  balloon  dropped  near  here,"  he  muttered, 
and  started  in  a  circle,  taking  a  gigantic  beech  -  tree 
as  the  centre  mark.  Gradually  he  widened  his  circuit, 
stumbling  on  over  the  slippery  leaves,  keeping  a  wary 
eye  out  for  the  thing  on  the  ground  that  he  sought. 

lie  had  seen  no  game  in  the  forest,  and  wondered  a 
little.  Once  or  twice  he  fancied  that  he  heard  some 
animal  moving  near,  but  when  he  listened  all  was 
quiet,  save  for  the  hoarse  calling  of  a  raven  in  some 
near  tree.  Suddenly  he  saw  the  raven,  and  at  the 
same  moment  it  rose,  croaking  the  alarm.  Up  through 
a  near  thicket  floundered  a  cloud  of  black  birds,  flap 
ping  their  wings.  They  were  ravens,  too,  all  croak 
ing  and  flapping  through  the  rain -soaked  branches, 
mounting  higher,  higher,  only  to  wheel  arid  sail  and 
swoop  in  circles,  round  and  round  in  the  gray  sky 
above  his  head.  He  shivered  and  hesitated,  knowing 
that  the  dead  lay  there  in  the  thicket.  And  he  was 


LOKRAINE   AWAKES  261 

right ;  bnt  when  he  saw  the  thing  he  covered  his  eyes 
with  both  hands  and  his  heart  rose  in  his  throat.  At 
last  he  stepped  forward  and  looked  into  the  vacant 
eye-sockets  of  a  skull  from  which  shreds  of  a  long 
beard  still  hung,  wet  and  straggling. 

It  lay  under  the  washed-out  roots  of  a  fir-tree,  the 
bare  ribs  staring  through  the  torn  clothing,  the  flesh- 
less  hands  clasped  about  a  steel  box. 

How  he  brought  himself  to  get  the  box  from  that 
cage  of  bones  he  never  knew.  At  last  he  had  it,  and 
stepped  back,  the  sweat  starting  from  every  pore. 
But  his  work  was  not  finished.  What  the  ravens  and 
wolves  had  left  of  the  thing  he  pushed  with  sticks 
into  a  hollow,  and  painfully  covered  it  with  forest 
mould.  Over  this  he  pulled  great  lumps  of  muddy 
clay,  trampling  them  down  firmly,  until  at  last  the 
dead  lay  underground  and  a  heap  of  stones  marked 
the  sepulchre. 

The  ravens  had  alighted  in  the  tree -tops  around 
the  spot,  watching  him  gravely,  croaking  and  sidling 
away  when  he  moved  with  abruptness.  Looking  up 
into  the  tree-tops  he  saw  some  shreds  of  stuff  clinging 
to  the  branches,  perhaps  tatters  from  the  balloon  or 
the  dead  man's  clothing.  Near  him  on  the  ground 
lay  a  charred  heap  that  was  once  the  wicker  car  of 
the  balloon.  This  he  scattered  with  a  stick,  laid  a 
covering  of  green  moss  on  the  mound,  placed  two 
sticks  crosswise  at  the  head,  took  off  his  cap,  then 
went  his  way,  the  steel  box  buttoned  securely  in  his 
breast.  As  he  walked  on  through  the  forest,  a  wolf  fled 
from  the  darkening  undergrowth,  hesitated,  turned, 
cringing  half  boldly,  half  sullenly,  watching  him  with 

changeless,  incandescent  eyes. 
18 


262  LORRAINE ! 

Darkness  was  creeping  into  the  forest  when  he  came 
out  on  the  wood-road.  He  had  a  mile  and  a  half  be 
fore  him  without  lantern  or  starlight,  and  he  hast 
ened  forward  through  the  mire,  which  seemed  to  pull 
him  back  at  every  step.  It  astonished  him  that  he  re 
ceived  no  challenge  in  the  twilight ;  he  peered  across 
the  river,  but  saw  no  sentinels  moving.  The  stillness 
was  profound,  save  for  the  drizzle  of  the  rain  and  the 
drip  from  the  wet  branches.  He  had  been  walking 
for  a  minute  or  two,  trying  to  keep  his  path  in  the 
thickening  twilight,  when,  far  in  the  depths  of  the 
mist,  a  cannon  thundered.  Almost  at  once  he  heard 
the  whistling  quaver  of  a  shell,  high  in  the  sky. 
Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  the  woods  hummed  with 
the  shrill  vibration  ;  then  it  passed,  screeching  ;  there 
came  a  swift  glare  in  the  sky,  a  sharp  report,  and  the 
steel  fragments  hurtled  through  the  naked  trees. 

He  was  running  now;  he  knew  the  Prussian  guns 
had  opened  on  the  Chateau  again,  and  the  thought  of 
Lorraine  in  the  tempest  of  iron  terrified  him.  And 
now  the  shells  were  streaming  into  the  woods,  falling 
Hke  burning  stars  from  the  heavens,  bursting  over 
the  tree-tops  ;  the  racket  of  tearing,  splintering  limbs 
was  in  his  ears,  the  dull  shock  of  a  &;bell  exploding  in 
the  mud,  the  splash  of  fragments  in  the  river.  Be 
hind  him  a  red  flare,  ever  growing,  wavering,  bursting 
into  crimson  radiance,  told  him  that  the  Chateau  de 
Nesville  was  ablaze.  The  black,  trembling  shadows 
cast  by  the  trees  grew  blacker  and  steadier  in  the 
fiery  light ;  the  muddy  road  sprang  into  view  under 
his  feet ;  the  river  ran  vermilion.  Another  light 
grew  in  the  southern  sky,  faint  yet,  but  growing 
surely.  He  ran  swiftly,  spurred  and  lashed  by  fear, 


LORRAINE    AWAKES  263 

for  this  time  it  was  the  Chateau  Morteyn  that  sent 
a  column  of  sparks  above  the  trees,  higher,  higher, 
under  a  pall  of  reddening  smoke. 

At  last  he  stumbled  into  the  garden,  where  a  mass 
of  plunging  horses  tugged  and  strained  at  their  har 
nessed  guns  and  caissons.  Muddy  soldiers  put  their 
ragged  shoulders  to  the  gun  -  wheels  and  pushed  ; 
teamsters  cursed  and  lashed  their  horses ;  officers 
rode  through  the  throng,  shouting.  A  squad  of  in 
fantry  began  a  fusillade  from  the  wall;  other  squads 
fired  from  the  lawn,  where  the  rear  of  a  long  column 
in  retreat  stretched  across  the  gardens  and  out  into 
the  road. 

As  Jack  ran  up  the  terrace  steps  the  gatling  began 
to  whir  like  a  watchman's  rattle;  needle -pointed 
flames  pricked  the  darkness  from  hedge  and  wall, 
where  a  dark  line  swayed  to  and  fro  under  the 
smoke. 

Up  the  stairs  he  sped,  and  flung  open  the  door  of 
Vhe  bedroom.  Lorraine  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  looking  out  into  the  darkness.  She  turned  at 
the  sound  of  the  opening  door : 

"  Jack  !" 

"Hurry  !"  he  gasped;  "this  time  they  mean  busi 
ness.  Where  is  your  sentinel  ?  Where  is  the  gen 
eral  ?  Hurry,  my  child — dress  quickly  !" 

He  went  out  to  the  hall  again,  and  looked  up  and 
down.  On  the  floor  below  he  heard  somebody  say 
that  the  general  was  dead,  and  he  hurried  down 
among  a  knot  of  officers  who  were  clustered  at  the 
windows,  night-glasses  levelled  on  the  forest.  As  he 
entered  the  room  a  lieutenant  fell  dead  and  a  shower 
of  bullets  struck  the  coping  outside. 


264  LORRAINE ! 

He  hastened  away  up -stairs  again.  Lorraine,  in 
cloak  and  hat,  met  him  at  the  door. 

"  Keep  away  from  all  windows/'  he  said.  "  Are 
yon  ready  ?" 

She  placed  her  arm  in  his,  and  he  led  her  down 
the  stairs  to  the  rear  of  the  Chateau. 

"  Have  they  gone — onr  soldiers  ?"  faltered  Lorraine. 
' '  Is  it  defeat  ?  Jack,  answer  me  !" 

"  They  are  holding  the  Chateau  to  protect  the  re 
treat,  I  think.  Hark !  The  gatling  is  roaring  like 
a  furnace  !  What  has  happened  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  old  general  came  to  speak  to 
me  when  I  awoke.  He  was  very  good  and  kind.  Then 
suddenly  the  sentinel  on  the  stairs  fell  down  and  we 
ran  out.  He  was  dead ;  a '  bullet  had  entered  from 
the  window  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  After  that  I  went 
into  my  room  to  dress,  and  the  general  hurried  down 
stairs,  telling  me  to  wait  until  he  called  for  me.  He 
did  not  come  back ;  the  firing  began,  and  some  shells 
hit  the  house.  All  the  troops  in  the  garden  began 
to  leave,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  so  I  waited 
for  you." 

Jack  glanced  right  and  left.  The  artillery  were 
leaving  by  the  stable  road ;  from  every  side  the  in 
fantry  streamed  past  across  the  lawn,  running  when 
they  came  to  the  garden,  where  a  shower  of  bul 
lets  fell  among  the  shrubbery.  A  captain  hasten 
ing  towards  the  terrace  looked  at  them  in  sur 
prise. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Jack.  "Can't  you  hold  the 
Chateau  ?" 

"  The  other  Chateau  has  been  carried,"  said  the 
captain.  "They  are  taking  us  on  the  left  flank. 


LORRAINE   AWAKES  265 

Madame/'  he  added,  "should  go  at  once ;  this  place 
will  be  untenable  in  a  few  moments." 

Lorraine  spoke  breathlessly :  "  Are  you  to  hold  the 
Chateau  with  the  gatling  until  the  army  is  safe  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  the  captain.  "  We  are  obliged 
to." 

There  came  a  sudden  lull  in  the  firing.  Lorraine 
caught  Jack's  arm. 

"  Come,"  cried  Jack,  "  we've  got  to  go  now  I" 

" I  shall  stay  I"  she  said ;  "I  know  my  work  is 
here  !" 

The  German  rifle -flames  began  to  sparkle  and 
flicker  along  the  river-bank;  a  bullet  rang  out  against 
the  granite  facade  behind  them. 

"  Come  \"  he  cried,  sharply,  but  she  slipped  from 
him  and  ran  towards  the  house. 

Drums  were  beating  somewhere  in  the  distant  for 
est — shrill,  treble  drums — and  from  every  hill-side  the 
hollow,  harsh  Prussian  trumpets  spoke.  Then  came 
a  sound,  deep,  menacing — a  far  cry  : 

"  Hourra  !    Preussen  I" 

"  Why  don't  you  cheer  ?"  faltered  Lorraine,  mount 
ing  the  terrace.  The  artillerymen  looked  at  her  in 
surprise.  Jack  caught  her  arm;  she  shook  him  off 
impatiently. 

"  Cheer  !"  she  cried  again.  "  Is  France  dumb  ?" 
She  raised  her  hand. 

"  Vive  la  France  !"  shouted  the  artillerymen,  catch 
ing  her  ardour.  "  Vive  la  Patrie  !  Vive  Lorraine  !" 

Again  the  short,  barking,  Prussian  cheer  sounded, 
and  again  the  artillerymen  answered  it,  cheer  on  cheer, 
for  France,  for  the  Land,  for  the  Province  of  Lor 
raine.  Up  in  the  windows  of  the  Chateau  the  line 


266  LORRAINE  ! 

soldiers  were  cheering,  too ;  the  engineers  on  the  roof, 
stamping  out  the  sparks  and  flames,  swung  their  caps 
and  echoed  the  shouts  from  terrace  and  window. 

In  the  sudden  silence  that  followed  they  caught 
the  vibration  of  hundreds  of  hoofs  —  there  came  a 
l*ush,  a  shout : 

"  Hourra  !  Preussen  !  Hourra  !  Hourra  I"  and 
into  the  lawn  dashed  the  German  cavalry,  banging 
away  with  carbine  and  revolver.  At  the  same  mo 
ment,  over  the  park  walls  swarmed  the  Bavarians  in 
a  forest  of  bayonets.  The  Chateau  vomited  flame 
from  every  window ;  the  gatling,  pulled  back  into  the 
front  door,  roared  out  in  a  hundred  streaks  of  fire. 
Jack  dragged  Lorraine  to  the  first  floor ;  she  was  ter 
ribly  excited.  Almost  at  once  she  knelt  down  and 
began  to  load  rifles,  passing  them  to  Jack,  who  passed 
them  to  the  soldiers  at  the  windows.  Once,  when  a 
whole  window  was  torn  in  and  the  mattress  on  fire, 
she  quenched  the  flames  with  water  from  her  pitcher ; 
and  when  the  soldiers  hesitated  at  the  breach,  she 
started  herself,  but  Jack  held  her  back  and  led  the 
cheering,  and  piled  more  mattresses  into  the  shat 
tered  window. 

Below  in  the  garden  the  Bavarians  were  running 
around  the  house,  hammering  with  rifle-butts  at  the 
closed  shutters,  crouching,  dodging  from  stable  to 
garden,  perfectly  possessed  to  get  into  the  house. 
Their  officers  bellowed  orders  and  shook  their  sabres 
in  the  very  teeth  of  the  rifle  blast ;  the  cavalry  ca 
pered  and  galloped,  and  flew  from  thicket  to  thicket. 

Suddenly  they  all  gave  way ;  the  garden  and  lawns 
were  emptied  save  for  the  writhing  wounded  and  mo 
tionless  dead. 


LORRAINE   AWAKES  267 

"  Cheer  !"  gasped  Lorraine  ;  and  the  battered  Cha 
teau  rang  again  with  frenzied  cries  of  triumph. 

The  wounded  were  calling  for  water,  and  Jack  and 
Lorraine  brought  it  in  bowls.  Here  and  there  the 
bedding  and  wood-work  had  caught  fire,  but  the  line 
soldiers  knocked  it  out  with  their  rifle-butts.  When- 
e*ver  Lorraine  entered  a  room  they  cheered  her — the 
young  officers  waved  their  caps,  even  a  dying  bugler 
raised  himself  and  feebly  sounded  the  salute  to  the 
colours. 

By  the  light  of  the  candles  Jack  noticed  for  the 
first  time  that  Lorraine  wore  the  dress  of  the  Province 
—  that  costume  that  he  had  first  seen  her  in  —  the 
scarlet  skirt,  the  velvet  bodice,  the  chains  of  silver. 
And  as  she  stood  loading  the  rifles  in  the  smoke- 
choked  room,  the  soldiers  saw  more  than  that :  they 
saw  the  Province  itself  in  battle  there — the  Province 
of  Lorraine.  And  they  cheered  and  leaped  to  the 
windows,  firing  frenziedly,  crying  the  old  battle-cry 
of  Lorraine :  "  Tiens  ta  Foy !  Frappe !  Pour  le  Roy  \" 
while  the  child  in  the  bodice  and  scarlet  skirt  stood 
up  straight  and  snapped  back  the  locks  of  the  loaded 
chassepots,  one  by  one. 

"  Once  again  !  For  France  !"  cried  Lorraine,  as 
the  clamour  of  the  Prussian  drums  broke  out  on  the 
hill-side,  and  the  hoarse  trumpets  signalled  from  wood 
to  wood. 

A  thundering  cry  arose  from  the  Chateau  : 

"  France  !" 

The  sullen  boom  of  a  Prussian  cannon  drowned  it ; 
the  house  shook  with  the  impact  of  a  shell,  bursting 
in  fury  on  the  terrace. 

White  faces  turned  to  faces  whiter  still. 


26*  LOARA£*E  ! 

"  Cannon!" 

"  Hold  on  !  For  France  I"  cried  Lorraine,  fever 
ishly. 

"  Cannon  I"  echoed  the  voices,  one  to  another. 

Again  the  solid  walls  shook  with  the  shock  of  a 
solid  shot. 

Jack  stuffed  the  steel  box  into  his  breast  and  turned 
to  Lorraine. 

"It  is  ended,  we  cannot  stay — "  he  began ;  but  at 
that  instant  something  struck  him  a  violent  blow  on 
the  chest,  and  he  fell,  striking  the  floor  with  his  head. 

In  a  second  Lorraine  was  at  his  side,  lifting  him 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  arms,  calling  to  him : 
"Jack!  Jack!  Jack!" 

The  soldiers  were  leaving  the  windows  now ;  the 
house  rocked  and  tottered  under  the  blows  of  shell 
and  solid  shot.  Down-stairs  an  officer  cried  :  ( '  Save 
yourselves  !"  There  was  a  hurry  of  feet  through  the 
halls  and  on  the  stairs.  A  young  soldier  touched  Lor 
raine  timidly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Give  him  to  me  ;  I  will  carry  him  down,"  he  said. 

She  clung  to  Jack  and  turned  a  blank  gaze  on  the 
soldier. 

"Give  him  to  me," he  repeated ;  "  the  house  is  burn 
ing."  But  she  would  not  move  nor  relinquish  her 
hold.  Then  the  soldier  seized  Jack  and  threw  him 
over  his  shoulder,  running  swiftly  down  the  stairs,  that 
rocked  under  his  feet.  Lorraine  cried  out  and  fol 
lowed  him  into  the  darkness,  where  the  crashing  of 
tiles  and  thunder  of  the  exploding  shells  dazed  and 
stunned  her ;  but  the  soldier  ran  on  across  the  garden, 
calling  to  her,  and  she  followed,  stumbling  to  his  side. 

"  To  the  trees — yonder — the  forest — "  he  gasped. 


LOBBADTE  AWAKES  268 

They  were  already  among  the  trees.  Then  Lor 
raine  seized  the  man  by  the  arm,  her  eyes  wide  with 
despair. 

"  Give  me  my  dead  \"  she  panted.  "He  is  mine  ! 
mine  !  mine  !" 

"  He  is  not  dead/'  faltered  the  soldier,  laying  Jack 
down  against  a  tree.  But  she  only  crouched  and  took 
him  in  her  arms,  eyes  closed,  and  lips  for  the  first 
time  crushed  to  his. 


XXV 

PRINCESS    IMPERIAL 

THE  glare  from  the  Chateau  Morteyn,  now  wrapped 
in  torrents  of  curling  flame,  threw  long  crimson  shafts 
of  light  far  into  the  forest.  The  sombre  trees  glim 
mered  like  live  cinders ;  the  wet  moss  crisped  and 
bronzed  as  the  red  radiance  played  through  the  thick 
ets.  The  bright,  wavering  fire-glow  fell  full  on  Jack's 
body  ;  his  face  was  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  Lorraine's 
hair. 

Twice  the  timid  young  soldier  drew  her  away,  but 
she  crept  back,  murmuring  Jack's  name  ;  and  at  last 
the  soldier  seized  the  body  in  both  arms  and  stumbled 
on  again,  calling  Lorraine  to  follow. 

Little  by  little  the  illumination  faded  out  among 
the  trees  ;  the  black  woods  crowded  in  on  every  side ; 
the  noise  of  the  crackling  flames,  the  shouting,  the 
brazen  rattle  of  drums  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and 
finally  died  out  in  the  soft,  thick  blackness  of  the 
forest. 

"When  they  halted  the  young  soldier  placed  Jack  on 
the  moss,  then  held  out  his  hands.  Lorraine  touched 
them.  He  guided  her  to  the  prostrate  figure  ;  she 
flung  herself  face  down  beside  it. 

After  a  moment  the  soldier  touched  her  again  tim 
idly  on  the  shoulder : 


PRINCESS  IMPERIAL  271 

*r  Have  I  done  well  ?" 

She  sobbed  her  thanks,  rising  to  her  knees.  The 
soldier,  a  boy  of  eighteen,  straightened  up ;  he  noise 
lessly  laid  his  knapsack  and  haversack  on  the  ground, 
trembled,  swayed,  and  sat  down,  muttering  vaguely 
of  God  and  the  honour  of  France.  Presently  he  went 
away,  lurching  in  the  darkness  like  a  drunken  man — 
on,  on,  deep  into  the  forest,  where  nothing  of  light  or 
sound  penetrated.  And  when  he  could  no  longer 
stand  he  sat  down,  his  young  head  in  his  hands,  and 
waited.  His  body  had  been  shot  through  and  through. 
About  midnight  he  died. 

When  Jack  came  to  his  senses  the  gray  mystery 
of  dawn  was  passing  through  the  silent  forest  aisles ; 
the  beeches,  pallid,  stark,  loomed  motionless  on  every 
side;  the  pale  veil  of  sky -fog  hung  festooned  from 
tree  to  tree.  There  was  a  sense  of  breathless  waiting 
in  the  shadowy  woods — no  sound,  no  stir,  nothing 
of  life  or  palpitation — nothing  but  foreboding. 

Jack  crawled  to  his  knees ;  his  chest  ached,  his 
mouth  cracked  with  a  terrible  throbbing  thirst.  Dazed 
as  yet,  he  did  not  even  look  around ;  he  did  not  try 
to  think  ;  but  that  weight  on  his  chest  grew  to  a  burn 
ing  agony,  and  he  tore  at  his  coat  and  threw  it  open. 
The  flat  steel  box,  pierced  by  a  bullet,  fell  on  the 
ground  before  his  knees.  Then  he  remembered.  He 
ripped  open  waistcoat  and  shirt  and  stared  at  his  bare 
breast.  It  was  discoloured  —  a  mass  of  bruises,  but 
there  was  no  blood  there.  He  looked  listlessly  at  the 
box  on  the  leaves  under  him,  and  touched  his  bruised 
body.  Suddenly  his  mind  grew  clearer  ;  he  stumbled 
up,  steadying  himself  against  a  tree.  His  lips  moved 
"  Lorraine  !"  but  no  sound  came.  Again,  in  terror^ 


272  LORRAINE ! 

he  tried  to  cry  out.  He  could  not  speak.  Then  he 
saw  her.  She  lay  among  the  dead  leaves,  face  down 
ward  in  the  moss. 

When  at  last  he  understood  that  she  was  alive  he 
lay  down  beside  her,  one  arm  across  her  body,  and 
sank  into  a  profound  sleep. 

She  woke  first.  A  burning  thirst  set  her  weeping 
in  her  sleep  and  then  roused  her.  Tear-stained  and 
ghastly  pale,  she  leaned  over  the  sleeping  man  beside 
her,  listened  to  his  breathing,  touched  his  hair,  then 
rose  and  looked  fearfully  about  her.  On  the  knap 
sack  under  the  tree  a  tin  cup  was  shining.  She  took 
it  and  crept  down  into  a  gulley,  where,  through  the 
deep  layers  of  dead  leaves,  water  sparkled  in  a  string 
of  tiny  iridescent  puddles.  The  water,  however,  was 
sweet  and  cold,  and,  when  she  had  satisfied  her  thirst 
and  had  dug  into  the  black  loam  with  the  edge  of  the 
cup,  more  water,  sparkling  and  pure,  gushed  up  and 
spread  out  in  the  miniature  basin.  She  waited  for 
the  mud  and  leaves  to  settle,  and  when  the  basin  was 
clear  she  unbound  her  hair,  loosened  her  bodice,  and 
slipped  it  off.  When  she  had  rolled  the  wide,  full 
sleeves  of  her  chemise  to  the  shoulder  she  bathed  her 
face  and  breast  and  arms  ;  they  glistened  like  marble 
tinged  with  rose  in  the  pale  forest  dawn.  The  little 
scrupulous  ablutions  finished,  she  dried  her  face  on 
the  fine  cambric  of  the  under  -  sleeve,  she  dried  her 
little  ears,  her  brightening  eyes,  the  pink  palms  of 
her  hand,  and  every  polished  finger  separately  from 
the  delicate  flushed  tip  to  the  wrist,  blue-veined  and 
slender.  She  shook  out  her  heavy  hair,  heavy  and 
gleaming  with  burnished  threads,  and  bound  it  tight 
er.  She  mended  the  broken  points  of  her  bodice,  then 


FBTNCES8   IMPERIAL  273 

laced  it  firmly  till  it  pressed  and  warmed  her  fragrant 
breast.  Then  she  rose. 

There  was  nothing  of  fear  or  sorrow  in  her  splendid 
eyes;  her  mouth  was  moist  and  scarlet,  her  curved 
cheeks  pure  as  a  child's. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  pensive,  her  face  now  grave, 
now  sensitive,  now  touched  with  that  mysterious  ex 
altation  that  glows  through  the  histories  of  the  saints, 
that  shines  from  tapestries,  that  hides  in  the  dim  faces 
carved  on  shrines. 

For  the  world  was  trembling  and  the  land  cried  out 
under  the  scourge,  and  she  was  ready  now  for  what 
must  be.  The  land  would  call  her  where  she  was 
awaited ;  the  time,  the  hour,  the  place  had  been  de 
creed.  She  was  ready — and  where  was  the  bitterness 
of  death, when  she  could  face  it  with  the  man  she  loved. 

Loved  ?  At  the  thought  her  knees  trembled  under 
her  with  the  weight  of  this  love ;  faint  with  its  mys 
tery  and  sweetness,  her  soul  turned  in  its  innocence 
to  God.  And  for  the  first  time  in  her  child's  life  she 
understood  that  God  lived. 

She  understood  now  that  the  sadness  of  life  was 
gone  forever.  There  was  no  loneliness  now  for  soul  or 
heart;  nothing  to  fear,  nothing  to  regret.  Her  life  was 
complete.  Death  seemed  an  incident.  If  it  came  to 
her  or  to  the  man  she  loved,  they  would  wait  for  one 
another  a  little  while — that  was  all. 

A  pale  sunbeam  stole  across  the  tree -tops.  She 
looked  up.  A  little  bird  sang,  head  tilted  towards  the 
blue.  She  moved  softly  up  the  slope,  her  hair  glis 
tening  in  the  early  sun,  her  blue  eyes  dreaming ;  and 
when  she  came  to  the  sleeping  man  she  bent  beside 
him  and  held  a  cup  of  sweet  water  to  his  lips. 

18 


274  LORRAINE ! 

About  noon  they  spoke  of  hunger,  timidly,  lest 
either  might  think  the  other  complained.  Her  head 
close  against  his,  her  warm  arms  tight  around  his 
neck,  she  told  him  of  the  boy  soldier,  the  dreadful 
journey  in  the  night,  the  terror,  and  the  awakening. 
She  told  him  of  the  birth  of  her  love  for  him — how 
death  no  longer  was  to  be  feared  or  sought.  She  told 
him  there  was  nothing  to  alarm  him,  nothing  to  make 
them  despair.  Sin  could  not  touch  them ;  death  was 
God's  own  gift. 

He  listened,  too  happy  to  even  try  to  understand. 
Perhaps  he  could  not,  being  only  a  young  man  in 
love.  But  he  knew  that  all  she  said  must  be  true, 
perhaps  too  true  for  him  to  comprehend.  He  was 
satisfied;  his  life  was  complete.  Something  of  the 
contentment  of  a  school-boy  exhausted  with  play  lin 
gered  in  his  eyes. 

They  had  spoken  of  the  box ;  she  had  taken  it  rev 
erently  in  her  hands  and  touched  the  broken  key, 
snapped  off  short  in  the  lock.  Inside,  the  Prussian 
bullet  rattled  as  she  turned  the  box  over  and  over, 
her  eyes  dim  with  love  for  the  man  who  had  done  all 
for  her. 

Jack  found  a  loaf  of  bread  in  the  knapsack.  It  was 
hard  and  dry,  but  they  soaked  it  in  the  leaf -covered 
spring  and  ate  it  deliciously,  cheek  against  cheek. 

Little  by  little  their  plans  took  shape.  They  were  to 
go — Heaven  knows  how! — to  find  the  Emperor.  Into 
his  hands  they  would  give  the  box  with  its  secrets, 
then  turn  again,  always  together,  ready  for  their  work, 
wherever  it  might  be. 

Towards  mid  -  afternoon  Lorraine  grew  drowsy. 
There  was  a  summer  warmth  in  the  air;  the  little 


PBINCES8  IMPERIAL  275 

forest  birds  came  to  the  spring  and  preened  their 
feathers  in  the  pale  sunshine.  Two  cicadas,  high  in 
the  tree-tops,  droned  an  endless  harmony  ;  hemlock 
cones  dropped  at  intervals  on  the  dead  leaves. 

When  Lorraine  lay  asleep,  her  curly  head  on  Jack's 
folded  coat,  her  hands  clasped  under  her  cheek,  Jack 
leaned  back  against  the  tree  and  picked  up  the  box. 
He  turned  it  softly,  so  that  the  bullet  within  should 
not  rattle.  After  a  moment  he  opened  his  penknife 
and  touched  the  broken  fragment  of  the  key  in  the  lock. 
Idly  turning  the  knife -blade  this  way  and  that,  but 
noiselessly,  for  fear  of  troubling  Lorraine,  he  thought 
of  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future.  Sir  Thorald 
lay  dead  on  the  hillock  above  the  river  Lisse ;  Alixe 
slept  beside  him  ;  Rickerl  was  somewhere  in  the  coun 
try,  riding  with  his  Uhlan  scourges  ;  Molly  Hesketh 
waited  in  Paris  for  her  dead  husband ;  the  Marquis  de 
Nesville's  bones  were  lying  in  the  forest  where  he  now 
sat, watching  the  sleeping  child  of  the  dead  man.  His 
child  ?  Jack  looked  at  her  tenderly.  No,  not  the 
child  of  the  Marquis  de  Nesville,  but  a  foundling,  a 
lost  waif  in  the  Lorraine  Hills,  perhaps  a  child  of 
chance.  What  of  it  ?  She  would  never  know.  The 
Chateau  de  Nesville  was  a  smouldering  mass  of  fire ; 
the  lands  could  revert  to  the  country ;  she  should 
never  again  need  them,  never  again  see  them,  for  he 
would  take  her  to  his  own  land  when  trouble  of  war 
had  passed,  and  there  she  should  forget  pain  and  sor 
row  and  her  desolate,  loveless  childhood  ;  she  should 
only  remember  that  in  the  Province  of  Lorraine  she 
had  met  the  man  she  loved.  All  else  should  be  a 
memory  of  green  trees  and  vineyards  and  rivers,  grow 
ing  vaguer  and  dimmer  as  the  healing  years  passed  on. 


276  LORRAINE ! 

The  knife-blade  in  the  box  bent,  sprang  back — the 
box  flew  open. 

He  did  not  realize  it  at  first;  he  looked  at  the  three 
folded  papers  lying  within,  curiously,  indolently. 
Presently  he  took  them  and  looked  at  the  superscrip 
tions  written  on  the  back,  in  the  handwriting  of  the 
marquis.  The  three  papers  were  inscribed  as  follows : 

"  1.  For  the  French  Government  after  the  fall  of  the  Em 
pire." 

"2.  For  the  French  Government  on  the  death  of  Louis  Bona 
parte,  falsely  called  Emperor." 

"3.  To  whom  it  may  concern  1" 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern  I"  he  repeated,  looking 
at  the  third  paper.  Presently  he  opened  it  and  read 
5t,  and  as  he  read  his  heart  seemed  to  cease  its  beat 
ing. 

"TO   WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN! 

"  Grief  has  unsettled  my  mind,  yet,  what  I  now  write  is  true, 
and,  if  Chere  is  a  God,  I  solemnly  call  His  curses  on  me  and 
mine  if  I  lie. 

"My  only  son,  Rene  Philip  d'Harcourt  de  Nesville,  was  as 
sassinated  on  the  Grand  Boulevard  in  Paris,  on  the  2d  of  De 
cember,  1851.  His  assassin  was  a  monster  named  Louis  Bona 
parte,  now  known  falsely  as  Napoleon  III.,  Emperor  of  the 
French.  His  paid  murderers  shot  my  boy  down,  and  stabbed 
him  to  death  with  their  bayonets,  in  front  of  the  Cafe  Tortoni. 
I  carried  his  body  home  ;  I  sat  at  the  window,  with  my  dead 
boy  on  my  knees,  and  I  saw  Louis  Bonaparte  ride  into  the 
Rue  St.  Honore  with  his  murderous  Lancers,  and  I  saw  children 
spit  at  him  and  hurl  curses  at  him  from  the  barricade. 

"Now  I,  Gilbert,  Marquis  de  Nesville,  swore  to  strike.  And 
I  struck,  not  at  his  life — that  can  wait.  I  struck  at  the  root  of 
all  his  pride  and  honour— I  struck  at  tkat  which  he  held  dearer 
than  these— at  his  dynasty  ! 


PRINCESS  IMPERIAL  277 

"Do  the  people  of  France  remember  when  the  Empress  was 
first  declared  enciente  ?  The  cannon  thundered  from  the  orange- 
rie  at  Saint-Cloud,  the  dome  of  the  Invalides  blazed  rockets,  the 
city  glittered  under  a  canopy  of  coloured  fire.  Oh,  they  were 
very  careful  of  the  Empress  of  the  French !  They  went  to  Saint- 
Cloud,  and  later  to  Versailles,  as  they  go  to  holy  cities,  praying. 
And  the  Emperor  himself  grew  younger,  they  said. 

"Then  came  the  news  that  the  expected  heir,  a  son,  had 
been  born  dead !  Lies ! 

' '  I,  Gilbert  de  Nesville,  was  in  the  forest  when  the  Empress 
of  the  French  fell  ill.  When  separated  from  the  others  she  called 
to  Moray,  and  bade  him  drive  for  the  love  of  Heaven  !  And 
they  drove — they  drove  to  the  Trianon,  and  there  was  no  one 
there.  And  there  the  child  was  born.  Moray  held  it  in  his  arms. 
He  came  out  to  the  colonnade  holding  it  in  his  arms,  and  calling 
for  a  messenger.  I  came,  and  when  I  was  close  to  Moray  I 
struck  him  in  the  face  and  he  fell  senseless.  I  took  the  child 
and  wrapped  it  in  my  cloak.  This  is  the  truth  ! 

"They  dared  not  tell  it;  they  dared  not,  for  fear  and  for 
shame.  They  said  that  an  heir  had  been  born  dead ;  and  they 
mourned  for  their  dead  son.  It  was  only  a  daughter.  She  ii 
alive;  she  loves  me,  and,  God  forgive  me,  I  hate  her  for  defeat 
ing  my  just  vengeance. 

"And  I  call  her  Lorraine  de  Nesville." 
19 


XXVI 

THE   SHADOW   OF   POMP 

THE  long  evening  shadows  were  lengthening  among 
the  trees ;  sleepy  birds  twitted  in  dusky  thickets  ; 
Lorraine  slept. 

Jack  still  stood  staring  at  the  paper  in  his  hands, 
trying  to  understand  the  purport  of  what  he  read  and 
reread,  until  the  page  became  a  blur  and  his  hot  eyes 
burned. 

All  the  significance  of  the  situation  rose  before  him. 
This  child,  the  daughter  of  the  oath-breaker,  the 
butcher  of  December,  the  sly,  slow  diplomate  of  Eu 
rope,  the  man  of  .Rome,  of  Mexico,  the  man  now  reeling 
back  to  Chalons  under  the  iron  blows  of  an  aroused 
people.  In  Paris,  already,  they  cursed  his  name  ;  they 
hurled  insults  at  the  poor  Empress,  that  mother  in 
despair.  Thiers,  putting  his  senile  fingers  in  the  por 
ridge,  stirred  a  ferment  that  had  not  even  germinated 
since  the  guillotine  towered  in  the  Place  de  la  Con 
corde  and  the  tumbrils  rattled  through  the  streets. 
He  did  not  know  what  he  was  stirring.  The  same 
impulse  that  possessed  Gladstone  to  devastate  trees 
animated  Thiers.  He  stirred  the  dangerous  mess  be 
cause  he  liked  to  stir,  nothing  more.  But  from  that 
hell's  broth  the  crimson  spectre  of  the  Commune  was 
to  rise,  when  the  smoke  of  Sedan  had  drifted  clear  of 
a  mutilated  nation. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  POMP  279 

Through  the  heavy  clouds  of  death  which  were  al 
ready  girdling  Paris,  that  flabby  Cyclops,  Gambetta, 
was  to  mouth  his  monstrous  platitudes,  and  brood 
over  the  battle-smoke,  a  nightmare  of  pomposity  and 
fanfaronade — in  a  balloon.  All  France  was  bowed 
down  in  shame  at  the  sight  of  the  grotesque  convoy, 
who  were  proclaiming  her  destiny  among  nations,  and 
their  destiny  to  lead  her  to  victory  and  "la  gloire." 
A  scorched,  blood-soaked  land,  a  pall  of  smoke  through 
which  brave  men  bared  their  breasts  to  the  blast  from 
the  Rhine,  and  died  uncomplainingly,  willingly,  cheer 
fully,  for  the  mother-land — was  it  not  pitiful  ? 

The  sublime  martyrdom  of  the  men  who  marched, 
who  shall  write  it  ?  And  who  shall  write  of  those 
others — Bazaine,  Napoleon,  Thiers,  Gambetta,  Favre, 
Ollivier  ? 

If  Bazaine  died,  cursed  by  a  nation,  his  martyrdom, 
for  martyrdom  it  was,  was  no  greater  than  that  of  the 
humblest  French  peasant,  who,  dying,  knew  at  last 
that  he  died,  not  for  France,  but  because  the  men 
who  sent  him  were  worse  than  criminal — they  were 
imbecile. 

The  men  who  marched  were  sublime  ;  they  were 
the  incarnation  of  embattled  France ;  the  starving 
people  of  Metz,  of  Strassbourg,  of  Paris,  were  sub 
lime.  But  there  was  nothing  sublime  about  Monsieur 
Adolphe  Thiers,  nothing  heroic  about  Hugo,  nothing 
respectable  about  Gambetta.  The  marshal  with  the 
fat  neck  and  Spanish  affiliations,  the  poor  confused, 
inert,  over -fed  marshal  caged  in  Metz  by  the  Red 
Prince,  harassed,  bewildered,  stunned  by  the  clashing 
of  politics  and  military  strategy,  which  his  meagre 
was  uiiable  to  reconcile  or  separate— tliis  uafort* 


280  LORRAINE  ! 

unate  incapable  was  deserving  of  pity,  perhaps  of 
contempt.  His  cnp  was  to  be  bitterer  than  that — it 
was  to  be  drained,  too,  with  the  shouts  of  "  Traitor  " 
stunning  his  fleshy  ears. 

He  was  no  traitor.  Cannot  France  understand  that 
this  single  word  "  traitor  "  has  brought  her  to  con 
tempt  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ?  There  are  two  words 
that  mar  every  glorious,  sublime  page  of  the  terrible 
history  of  1870-71,  and  these  two  words  are  "trea 
son  "  and  "  revenge."  Let  the  nation  face  the  truth, 
let  the  people  write  " incapacity"  for  "treason,"  and 
"honour"  for  "revenge,"  and  then  the  abused 
term  "la  gloire"  will  be  justified  in  the  eyes  of 
men. 

As  for  Thiers,  let  men  judge  him  from  his  three 
revolutions,  let  the  unknown  dead  in  the  ditches  be 
yond  the  enceinte  judge  him,  let  the  spectres  of  the 
murdered  from  Pere  Lachaise  to  the  bullet  -  pitted 
terrace  of  the  Luxembourg  judge  this  meddler,  this 
potterer  in  epoch-makmg  cataclysms.  Bismarck,  gray, 
imbittered,  without  honour  in  an  unenlightened  court, 
can  still  smile  when  he  remembers  Jules  Favre  and 
his  prayer  for  the  National  Guard. 

And  these  were  the  men  who  formed  the  convoy 
around  the  chariot  of  France  militant,  France  in 
arms  ! — a  cortege  at  once  hideous,  shameful,  ridicu 
lous,  grotesque. 

What  was  left  of  the  Empire  ?  Metz  still  held  out ; 
Strassbourg  trembled  under  the  shock  of  Prussian 
mortars;  Paris  strained  its  eyes  for  the  first  silhou 
ette  of  the  Uhlan  on  the  heights  of  Versailles ;  and 
through  the  chill  of  the  dying  year  the  sombre  Em 
peror,  hunted,  driven,  threatened,  tumbled  into  the 


THE  SHADOW    OP  POMP  281 

snare  of  Sedan  as  a  sick  buzzard  flutters  exhausted  to 
earth  under  a  shower  of  clubs  and  stones. 

The  end  was  to  be  brutal :  a  charge  or  two  of  de 
voted  men,  a  crush  at  the  narrow  gates,  a  white  flag, 
a  brusque  gesture  from  Bismarck,  nothing  more  ex 
cept  a  "  guard  of  honour,"  an  imperial  special  train, 
and  Belgian  newsboys  shrieking  along  the  station 
platform,  "  Extra  !  Fall  of  the  Empire  !  Paris  pro 
claims  the  Republic  !  Flight  of  the  Empress  !  Ex 
tra  !" 

Jack,  sitting  with  the  paper  in  his  hands,  read  be 
tween  the  lines,  and  knew  that  the  prophecy  of  evil 
days  would  be  fulfilled.  But  as  yet  the  writing  on 
the  wall  of  Alsatian  hills  had  not  spelled  "Sedan," 
nor  did  he  know  of  the  shambles  of  Mars-la-Tour, 
the  bloody  work  at  Buzancy,  the  retreat  from  Chalons, 
and  the  evacuation  of  Vitry. 

Bnzancy  marked  the  beginning  of  the  end.  It  was 
nothing  but  a  skirmish  ;  the  3d  Saxon  Cavalry,  a 
squadron  or  two  of  the  18th  Uhlans,  and  Zwinker's 
Battery  fought  a  half  -  dozen  squadrons  of  chasseurs. 
But  the  red-letter  mark  on  the  result  was  unmis 
takable.  Bazaine's  correspondence  was  captured.  On 
the  same  day  the  second  sortie  occurred  from  Strass- 
bourg.  It  was  time,  for  the  trenches  and  parallels  had 
been  pushed  within  six  hundred  paces  of  the  glacis. 
And  so  it  was  everywhere,  the  whole  country  was  in 
a  ferment  of  disorganized  but  desperate  resistance  of 
astonishment,  indignation,  dismay. 

The  nation  could  not  realize  that  it  was  too  late, 
that  it  was  not  conquest  but  invasion  which  the  ar 
mies  of  France  must  prepare  for.  Blow  after  blow  fell, 
disaster  after  disaster  stunned  the  country,  while  the 


282  LORRAINE  f 

government  studied  new  and  effective  forms  of  lying 
and  evasion,  and  the  hunted  Emperor  drifted  on  to 
his  doom  in  the  pitfall  of  Sedan. 

All  Alsace  except  Belfort,  Strassbourg,  Schlett- 
stadt,  and  Neuf  Brisac  was  in  German  hands,  undar 
German  power,  governed  by  German  law.  The  Uh 
lans  scoured  the  country  as  clean  as  possible,  but 
the  franc-tireurs  roamed  from  forest  to  forest,  some 
times  gallantly  facing  martyrdom,  sometimes  loot 
ing,  burning,  pillaging,  and  murdering.  If  Germans 
maintain  that  the  only  good  franc -tireur  is  a  dead 
franc-tireur,  they  are  not  always  justified.  Let  them 
sit  first  in  judgment  on  Andreas  Hofer.  England  had 
Hereward ;  America,  Harry  Lee ;  and,  when  the  South 
is  ready  to  acknowledge  Mosby  and  Quantrell  of  the 
same  feather,  it  will  be  time  for  France  to  blush  for 
her  franc-tireurs.  Noble  and  ignoble,  patriots  and 
cowards,  the  justified  and  the  misguided  wore  the 
straight  kepi  and  the  sheepskin  jacket.  All  figs  in 
Spain  are  not  poisoned. 

"With  the  fall  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn,  the  war  in 
Lorraine  would  degenerate  into  a  combat  between 
picquets  of  Uhlans  and  roving  franc-tireurs.  There 
would  be  executions  of  spies,  vengeance  on  peasants, 
examples  made  of  franc-tireurs,  and  all  the  horrors 
of  irregular  warfare.  Jack  knew  this;  he  understood 
it  perfectly  when  the  muddy  French  infantry  tramped 
out  of  the  Chateau  Morteyn  and  vanished  among  the 
dark  hills  in  the  rain. 

For  himself,  had  he  been  alone,  there  would  have 
been  nothing  to  keep  him  in  the  devastated  prov 
ince.  Indeed,  considering  his  peculiarly  strained  re 
lations  with  the  Uhlans  of  Rickeii's  regiment,  it  be- 


THE  SHADOW  OP  POMP  283 

hooved  him  to  get  across  the  Belgian  frontier  very 
promptly. 

Now  he  not  only  had  Lorraine,  he  had  the  woman 
who  loved  him  and  who  was  ready  to  sacrifice  herself 
and  him  too  for  the  honour  of  France.  She  lived  for 
one  thing — the  box,  with  its  pitiful  contents,  its  se 
crets  of  aerial  navigation  and  destruction,  must  be 
placed  at  the  service  of  France.  The  government  was 
France  now,  and  the  Empress  was  the  government. 
Lorraine  knew  nothing  of  the  reasons  her  father  had 
had  for  his  hatred  of  the  Emperor  and  the  Empire. 
Personal  grievances,  even  when  those  grievances  were 
her  father's,  even  though  they  might  be  justified, would 
never  deter  her  from  placing  the  secrets  that  might 
aid,  might  save,  France  with  the  man  who,  at  that 
moment,  in  her  eyes,  represented  the  safety,  security, 
the  very  existence  of  the  land  she  loved. 

Jack  knew  this.  Whether  she  was  right  or  not  did 
not  occur  to  him  to  ask.  But  the  irony  of  it,  the  grim 
necessity  of  such  a  fate,  staggered  him — a  daughter 
seeking  her  father  at  the  verge  of  his  ruin — a  child, 
long  lost,  forgotten,  unrecognized,  unclaimed,  finding 
the  blind  path  to  a  father  who,  when  she  had  been  torn 
from  him,  dared  not  seek  for  her,  dared  not  whisper 
of  her  existence  except  to  Moray  in  the  cloaked  shad 
ows  of  secret  places. 

For  good  or  ill  Jack  made  up  his  mind;  he  had  de 
cided  for  himself  and  for  her.  Her  loveless,  lonely 
childhood  had  been  enough  of  sorrow  for  one  young 
life ;  she  should  have  no  further  storm,  no  more 
heartaches,  nothing  but  peace  and  love  and  the  strong 
arm  of  a  man  to  shield  her.  Let  her  remember  the 
only  father  she  had  ever  known — let  her  remember 


284  LOBBAINE  ! 

him  with  faithful  loye  and  sorrow  as  she  would.  For 
the  wrong  he  had  done,  let  him  account  to  another 
tribunal ;  her,  the  echo  of  that  crime  and  hate  and 
passion  must  never  reach. 

Why  should  he,  the  man  who  loved  her,  bring  to 
her  this  heritage  of  ruin  ?  Why  should  he  tear  the 
veil  from  her  trusting  eyes  and  show  her  a  land 
bought  with  blood  and  broken  oaths,  sold  in  blood 
and  infamy  ?  Why  should  he  show  her  this,  and  say, 
"  This  is  the  work  of  your  imperial  family !  There 
is  your  father  ! — some  call  him  the  Assassin  of  De 
cember  !  There  is  your  mother ! — read  the  pages  of  an 
Eastern  diary !  There,  too,  is  your  brother,  a  sick  child 
of  fifteen,  baptized  at  Saarbriick,  endowed  at  Sedan  ?" 

It  was  enough  that  France  lay  prostrate,  that  the 
wounded  screamed  from  the  blood-wet  fields,  that  the 
quiet  dead  lay  under  the  pall  of  smoke  from  the  na 
tion's  funeral  pyre.  It  was  enough  that  the  parents 
suffer,  that  the  son  drag  out  an  existence  among 
indifferent  or  hostile  people  in  an  alien  land.  The 
daughter  should  never  know,  never  weep  when  they 
wept,  never  pray  when  they  prayed.  This  was  retri 
bution — not  his,  he  only  watched  in  silence  the  work 
ing  of  divine  justice. 

He  tore  the  paper  into  fragments  and  ground  them 
under  his  heel  deep  into  the  soft  forest  mould. 

Lorraine  slept. 

He  stood  a  long  while  in  silence  looking  down  at  her. 
She  was  breathing  quietly,  regularly;  her  long,  curling 
lashes  rested  on  curved  cheeks,  delicate  as  an  infant's. 

Half  fearfully  he  stooped  to  arouse  her.  A  foot 
fall  sounded  on  the  dead  leaves  behind  him,  and  a 
franc-tireur  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 


XXVII 

gA  IRA  ! 

"  WHAT  do  you  want  ?"  asked  Jack,  in  a  voice  that 
vibrated  unpleasantly.  There  was  a  dangerous  light 
in  his  eyes ;  his  lips  grew  thinner  and  whiter.  One 
by  one  a  dozen  franc-tireurs  stepped  from  behind  the 
trees  on  every  side,  rifles  shimmering  in  the  subdued 
afternoon  haze — wiry,  gloomy-eyed  men,  their  sleeve 
less  sheepskin  jackets  belted  in  with  leather,  their 
sombre  caps  and  trousers  thinly  banded  with  orange 
braid.  They  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  almost 
without  curiosity,  fingering  their  gunlocks,  bayoneted 
rifles  unslung. 

"  Your  name  ?"  said  the  man  who  had  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once.  One  of  the  men  began 
to  laugh. 

"He's  the  vicomte's  nephew/' said  another;  and, 
pointing  at  Lorraine,  who,  now  aroused,  sat  up  on  the 
moss  beside  Jack,  he  con  tinned  :  "And  that  is  the 
little  chatelaine  of  the  Chateau  de  Nesville."  He  took 
off  his  straight-visored  cap. 

The  circle  of  gaunt,  sallow  faces  grew  friendly,  and, 
as  Lorraine  stood  up,  looking  questioningly  from  one 
to  the  other,  caps  were  doffed,  rifle-butts  fell  to  the 
ground. 


286  LORRAINE  I 

"Why,  it's  Monsieur  Tricasse  of  tli3  Saint -Lys 
Pompiers  I"  she  said.  { '  Oh,  and  there  is  le  Pere  Pas- 
serat,  and  little  fimile  Brim  !  fimile,  my  son,  why 
are  you  not  with  your  regiment  ?"  The  dark  faces 
lighted  up  ;  somebody  snickered  ;  Brun,  the  conscript 
of  the  class  of  '71  who  had  been  hauled  by  the  heels 
from  under  his  mother's  bed,  looked  confused  and 
twiddled  his  thumbs. 

One  by  one  the  franc-tireurs  came  shambling  up  to 
pay  their  awkward  respects  to  Lorraine  and  to  Jack, 
while  Tricasse  pulled  his  bristling  mustache  and  clat 
tered  his  sabre  in  its  sheath  approvingly.  When  his 
men  had  acquitted  themselves  with  all  the  awkward 
sincerity  of  Lorraine  peasants,  he  advanced  with  a 
superb  bow  and  flourish,  lifting  his  cap  from  his  gray 
head: 

"In  my  quality  of  ex-pompier  and  commandant  of 
the  < Terrors  of  Morteyn' — my  battalion" — here  he 
made  a  sweeping  gesture  as  though  briefly  review 
ing  an  army  corps  instead  of  a  dozen  wolfish -eyed 
peasants — "I  extend  to  our  honoured  and  beloved 
Chatelaine  de  Nesville,  and  to  our  honoured  guest, 
Monsieur  Marche,  the  protection  and  safe-conduct  of 
the  <  Terrors  of  Morteyn.'" 

As  he  spoke  his  expression  became  exalted.  He, 
Tricasse,  ex-pompier  and  exempt,  was  posing  as  the 
saviour  of  his  province,  and  he  felt  that,  though  Ger 
man  armies  stretched  in  endless  ranks  from  the  Loire 
to  the  Meuse,  he,  Tricasse,  was  the  man  of  destiny, 
the  man  of  the  place  and  the  hour  when  beauty  was 
in  distress. 

Lorraine,  her  eyes  dim  with  gentle  tears,  held  out 
lender  hands;  Tricasse  bent  low  and  touched 


<JA   IRAJ  287 

them  with  his  grizzled  mustache.  Then  he  straight 
ened  up,  frowned  at  his  men,  and  said  "Attention  I" 
in  a  very  fierce  voice. 

The  half-starved  fellows  shuffled  into  a  single  rank; 
their  faces  were  wreathed  in  sheepish  smiles.  Jack 
noticed  that  a  Bavarian  helmet  and  side-arm  hnng 
from  the  knapsack  of  one,  a  mere  freckled  lad,  downy 
and  dimpled.  Tricasse  drew  his  sabre,  turned,  marched 
solemnly  along  the  front,  wheeled  again,  and  saluted. 

Jack  lifted  his  cap  ;  Lorraine,  her  arm  in  his,  bowed 
and  smiled  tearfully. 

"  The  dear,  brave  fellows  I"  she  cried,  impulsively, 
whereat  every  man  reddened,  and  Tricasse  grew  giddy 
with  emotion.  He  tried  to  speak;  his  emotion  was 
great. 

"  In  my  capacity  of  ex-pompier,"  he  gasped,  then 
went  to  pieces,  and  hid  his  eyes  in  his  hands.  The 
"  Terrors  of  Morteyn  "  wept  with  him  to  a  man. 

Presently,  with  a  gesture  to  Tricasse,  Jack  led  Lor 
raine  down  the  slope,  past  the  spring,  and  on  through 
the  forest,  three  "  Terrors  "  leading,  rifles  poised,  Tri 
casse  and  the  others  following,  alert  and  balancing 
their  cocked  rifles. 

"  How  far  is  your  camp  ?"  asked  Jack.  "  We  need 
food  and  the  warmth  of  a  fire.  Tell  me,  Monsieur 
Tricasse,  what  is  left  of  the  two  chateaux  ?" 

Lorraine  bent  nearer  as  the  old  man  said  :  "  The 
Chateau  de  Nesville  is  a  mass  of  cinders  ;  Morteyn,  a 
stone  skeleton.  Pierre  is  dead.  There  are  many  dead 
there — many,  many  dead.  The  Prussians  burned  Saint- 
Lys  yesterday  ;  they  shot  Bosquet,  the  letter-carrier  ; 
they  hung  his  boy  to  the  railroad  trestle,  then  shot 
him  to  pieces.  The  Cure  is  a  prisoner;  the  Mayor  of 


288  LORRAINE ! 

Saint-Lys  and  the  Notary  have  been  sent  to  the  oamp 
at  Strassbonrg.  We,  my  f  Terrors  of  Morteyn '  and  I, 
are  still  facing  the  vandals;  except  for  us,  the  Province 
of  Lorraine  is  empty  of  Frenchmen  in  armed  resist 
ance." 

The  old  man,  in  his  grotesque  uniform,  touched  his 
bristling  mustache  and  muttered:  "Noni  d'une  pipe  I" 
several  times  to  steady  his  voice. 

Lorraine  and  Jack  pressed  on  silently,  sorrowfully, 
hand  in  hand,  watching  the  scouts  ahead,  who  were 
creeping  on  through  the  trees,  heads  turning  from 
side  to  side,  rifles  raised.  They  passed  along  the  back 
of  a  thickly  wooded  ridge  for  some  distance,  perhaps  a 
mile,  before  the  thin  blue  line  of  a  smouldering  camp- 
fire  rose  almost  in  their  very  faces.  A  low  challenge  from 
a  clump  of  birch-trees  was  answered,  there  came  the 
sound  of  rifles  dropping,  the  noise  of  feet  among  the 
leaves,  a  whisper,  and  before  they  knew  it  they  were 
standing  at  the  mouth  of  a  hole  in  the  bank,  from 
which  came  the  odour  of  beef-broth  simmering.  Two 
or  three  franc-tireurs  passed  them,  looking  up  curi 
ously  into  their  faces.  Tricasse  dragged  a  dilapidated 
cane-chair  from  the  dirt-cave  and  placed  it  before  Lor 
raine  as  though  he  were  inviting  hv  *  to  an  imperial 
throne. 

"  Thank  you/'  she  said,  sweetly,  and  seated  herself, 
not  relinquishing  Jack's  hand. 

Two  tin  basins  of  soup  were  brought  to  them ;  they 
ate  it,  soaking  bits  of  crust  in  it. 

The  men  pretended  not  to  watch  them.  With  all 
their  instinctive  delicacy  these  clumsy  peasants  busied 
themselves  in  guard-mounting,  weapon  cleaning,  and 
their  cuisine,  as  though  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a 


9A  IRA  !  289 

pretty  woman  within  miles.  But  it  tried  their  gallant 
ry  as  Frenchmen  and  their  tact  as  Lorraine  peasants. 
Furtive  glances,  deprecatory  and  timid,  were  met  by 
the  sweetest  of  smiles  from  Lorraine  or  a  kindly  nod 
from  Jack.  Tricasse,  utterly  unbalanced  by  his  new 
role  of  protector  of  beauty,  gave  orders  in  fierce,  agi 
tated  whispers,  and  made  sudden  aimless  promenades 
around  the  birch  thicket.  In  one  of  these  prowls  he 
discovered  a  toad  staring  at  the  camp-fire,  and  he 
drew  his  sword  with  a  furious  gesture,  as  though  no 
living  toad  were  good  enough  to  intrude  on  the  Cha 
telaine  of  the  Chateau  de  Nesville;  but  the  toad  hopped 
away,  and  Tricasse  unbent  his  brows  and  resumed  his 
agitated  prowl. 

When  Lorraine  had  finished  her  soup,  Jack  took 
both  plates  into  the  cave  and  gave  them  to  a  man  who, 
squatted  on  his  haunches,  was  washing  dishes.  Lor 
raine  followed  him  and  sat  down  on  a  blanket,  leaning 
back  against  the  side  of  the  cave. 

"Wait  for  me,"  said  Jack.  She  drew  his  head 
down  to  hers. 

They  lingered  there  in  the  darkness  a  moment, 
unconscious  of  the  amazed  but  humourous  glances  of 
the  cook ;  then  Jack  went  out  and  found  Tricasse,  and 
walked  with  him  to  the  top  of  the  tree-clad  ridge. 

A  road  ran  under  the  overhanging  bank. 

"  I  didn't  know  we  were  so  near  a  road,"  said  Jack, 
startled.  Tricasse  laid  his  finger  on  his  lips. 

"  It  is  the  high-road  to  Saint-Lys.  We  have  settled 
more  than  one  Uhlan  dog  on  that  curve  there  by  the 
oak-tree.  Look  !  Here  comes  one  of  our  men.  See  ! 
He's  got  something,  too." 

Sure  enough,  around  the  bend  in  the  road  slunk  a 

19 


290  LOKKAINE  ! 

franc- tireur,  loaded  down  with  what  appeared  to  be 
mail  -  sacks.  Cautiously  he  reconnoitred  the  bank, 
the  road,  the  forest  on  the  other  side,  whistled  softly, 
and,  at  Tricasse's  answering  whistle,  came  puffing  and 
blowing  up  the  slope,  and  flung  a  mail-bag,  a  rifle,  a  Ba 
varian  helmet,  and  a  German  knapsack  to  the  ground. 

"  The  big  police  officer?"  inquired  Tricasse,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  the  big  one  with  the  red  beard.  He  died 
hard.  I  used  the  bayonet  only,"  said  the  franc- 
tireur,  looking  moodily  at  the  dried  blood  on  his 
hairy  fists.  "  I  got  a  Bavarian  sentry,  too  ;  there's 
the  proof/' 

Jack  looked  at  the  helmet.  Tricasse  ripped  up  the 
mail-sack  with  his  long  clasp-knife.  "They  stole  our 
mail ;  they  will  not  steal  it  again,"  observed  Tricasse, 
sorting  the  letters  and  shuffling  them  like  cards. 

One  by  one  he  looked  them  over,  sorted  out  two, 
stuffed  the  rest  into  the  breast  of  his  sheepskin  coat, 
and  stood  up. 

"  There  are  two  letters  for  you,  Monsieur  Marche, 
that  were  going  to  be  read  by  the  Prussian  police 
officials,"  he  said,  holding  the  letters  out.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  our  new  system  of  mail  delivery  ? 
German  delivery,  franc -tireur  facteur,  eh,  Monsieur 
Marche  ?" 

"  Give  me  the  letters,"  said  Jack,  quietly. 

He  sat  down  and  read  them  both,  again  and  again. 
Tricasse  turned  his  back,  and  stirred  the  Bavarian 
helmet  with  his  boot-toe ;  the  franc-tireur  gathered 
up  his  spoils,  and,  at  a  gesture  from  Tricasse,  carried 
them  down  the  slope  towards  the  hidden  camp. 

"  Put  out  the  fire,  too/'  called  Tricasse,  softly.  ( '  I 
begin  to  smell  it," 


£A  IRA  •  291 

When  Jack  had  finished  his  reading,  he  looked  up 
at  Tricasse,  folding  the  letters  and  placing  them  in 
his  breast,  where  the  flat  steel  box  was. 

"  Letters  from  Paris,"  he  said.  "  The  Uhlans  have 
appeared  in  the  Eure-et-Seine  and  at  Melun.  They  are 
arming  the  forts  and  enceinte,  and  the  city  is  being 
provisioned  for  a  siege." 

"  Paris  !"  blurted  out  Tricasse,  aghast. 

Jack  nodded,  silently. 

After  a  moment  he  resumed:  "  The  Emperor  is  said 
to  be  with  the  army  near  Mezieres  on  the  south  bank 
of  the  Meuse.  We  are  going  to  find  him,  Mademoiselle 
de  Nesville  and  I.  Tell  us  what  to  do." 

Tricasse  stared  at  him,  incapable  of  speech. 

"  Very  well/'  said  Jack,  gently,  ' '  think  it  over. 
Tell  me,  at  least,  how  we  can  avoid  the  German  lines. 
We  must  start  this  evening." 

He  turned  and  descended  the  bank  rapidly,  letting 
himself  down  by  the  trunks  of  the  birch  saplings, 
treading  softly  and  cautiously  over  stones  and  dead, 
leaves,  for  the  road  was  so  near  that  a  careless  foot 
step  might  perhaps  be  heard  by  passing  Uhlans.  In 
a  few  minutes  he  crossed  the  ridge,  and  descended 
into  the  hollow,  where  the  odour  of  the  extinguished 
fire  lingered  in  the  air. 

Lorraine  was  sitting  quietly  in  the  cave ;  Jack  en 
tered  and  sat  down  on  the  blankets  beside  her. 

"  The  franc-tireurs  captured  a  mail-sack  just  now," 
he  said.  "In  it  were  two  letters  for  me  ;  one  from  my 
sister  Dorothy,  and  the  other  from  Lady  Hesketh. 
Dorothy  writes  in  alarm,  because  my  uncle  and  aunt 
arrived  without  me.  They  also  are  frightened  because 
they  have  heard  that  Morteyn  was  again  threatened. 


292  LORRAINE  1 

The  Uhlans  have  been  seen  in  neighbouring  depart 
ments,  and  the  city  is  preparing  for  a  siege.  My  uncle 
will  not  allow  his  wife  or  Dorothy  or  Betty  Castle- 
maine  to  stay  in  Paris,  so  they  are  all  going  to  Brus 
sels,  and  expect  me  to  join  them  there.  They  know 
nothing  of  what  has  happened  at  your  home  or  at 
Morteyn  ;  they  need  not  know  it  until  we  meet  them. 
Listen,  Lorraine:  it  is  my  duty  to  find  the  Emperor 
and  deliver  this  box  to  him;  but  you  must  not  go — it 
is  not  necessary.  So  I  am  going  to  get  you  to  Brus 
sels  somehow,  and  from  there  I  can  pass  on  about  my 
duty  with  a  free  heart." 

She  placed  both  hands  and  then  her  lips  over  his 
mouth. 

"Hush,"  she  said ;  "  I  am  going  with  you ;  it  is  use 
less,  Jack,  to  try  to  persuade  me.  Hush,  my  darling ; 
there,  be  sensible ;  our  path  is  very  hard  and  cruel, 
but  it  does  not  separate  us;  we  tread  it  together,  al 
ways  together,  Jack."  He  struggled  to  speak ;  she 
held  him  close,  and  laid  her  head  against  his  breast, 
contented,  thoughtful,  her  eyes  dreaming  in  the  half- 
light  of  France  reconquered,  of  noble  deeds  and  sacri 
fices,  of  the  great  bells  of  churches  thundering  God's 
praise  to  a  humble,  thankful  nation,  proud  in  its  faith, 
generous  in  its  victory.  As  she  lay  dreaming  close  to 
the  man  she  loved,  a  sudden  tumult  startled  the  sleep 
ing  echoes  of  the  cave — the  scuffling  and  thrashing  of 
a  shod  horse  among  dead  leaves  and  branches.  There 
came  a  groan,  a  crash,  the  sound  of  a  blow;  then  si 
lence. 

Outside,  the  franc-tiraurs,  rifles  slanting,  were  mov 
ing  swiftly  out  into  the  hollow,  stooping  low  among 
the  trees.  As  they  hurried  from  the  cav«  another 


<JA  IRA!  293 

franc-tirenr  came  np,  leading  a  riderless  cavalry  horse 
by  one  hand ;  in  the  other  he  held  his  rifle,  the  bntt 
dripping  with  blood. 

"Silence,"  he  motioned  to  them,  pointing  to  the 
wooded  ridge  beyond.  Jack  looked  intently  at  the 
cavalry  horse.  The  schabraque  was  blue,  edged  with 
yellow  ;  the  saddle-cloth  bore  the  number  "  11." 

"  Uhlan  ?"    He  formed  the  word  with  his  lips. 

The  franc-tireur  nodded  with  a  ghastly  smile  and 
glanced  down  at  his  dripping  gunstock. 

Lorraine's  hand  closed  on  Jack's  arm. 

"  Come  to  the  Mil,"  she  said ;  "  I  cannot  stand  that." 

On  the  crest  of  the  wooded  ridge  crouched  Tricasse, 
bared  sabre  stuck  in  the  ground  before  him,  a  revolver 
in  either  fist.  Around  him  lay  his  men,  flat  on  the 
ground,  eyes  focussed  on  the  turn  in  the  road  below. 
Their  eyes  glowed  like  the  eyes  of  caged  beasts,  their 
sinewy  fingers  played  continually  with  the  rifle-ham 
mers. 

Jack  hesitated,  his  arm  around  Lorraine's  body,  his 
eyes  fixed  nervously  on  the  bend  in  the  road. 

Something  was  coming  ;  there  were  cries,  the  tram 
ple  of  horses,  the  shuffle  of  footsteps.  Suddenly  an 
Uhlan  rode  cautiously  around  the  bend,  glanced  right 
and  left,  looked  back,  signalled,  and  started  on.  Be 
hind  him  crowded  a  dozen  more  Uhlans,  lances  glan 
cing,  pennants  streaming  in  the  wind. 

"They've  got  a  woman!"  whispered  Lorraine. 

They  had  a  man,  too — a  powerful,  bearded  peasant, 
with  a  great  livid  welt  across  his  bloodless  face.  A 
rope  hung  around  his  neck,  the  end  of  which  was  at 
tached  to  the  saddle-bow  of  an  Uhlan.  But  what  made 

Jack's  heart  fairly  leap  into  hig  mouth  was  to  see 
20 


294  LORRAINE ! 

Siurd  von  Steyr  suddenly  wheel  in  his  saddle  and  lash 
the  woman  across  the  face  with  his  doubled  bridle. 

She  cringed  and  fell  to  her  knees,  screaming  and 
seizing  his  stirrup. 

' '  Get  out,  damn  you  I"  roared  Von  Steyr.  ' '  Here — 
I'll  settle  this  now.  Shoot  that  French  dog  I" 

"  My  husband,  0  God !"  screamed  the  woman, 
struggling  in  the  dust.  In  a  second  she  had  fallen 
among  the  horses ;  a  trooper  spurred  forward  and 
raised  his  revolver,  but  the  man  with  the  rope  around 
his  neck  sprang  right  at  him,  hanging  to  the  saddle 
bow,  and  tearing  the  rider  with  teeth  and  nails. 
Twice  Von  Steyr  tried  to  pass  his  sabre  through  him ; 
an  Uhlan  struck  him  with  a  lance-butt,  another  buried 
a  lance-point  in  his  back,  but  he  clung  like  a  wild-cat 
to  his  man,  burying  his  teeth  in  the  Uhlan's  face, 
deeper,  deeper,  till  the  Uhlan  reeled  back  and  fell 
crashing  into  the  road. 

"  Fire  I"  shrieked  Tricasse — "  the  woman's  dead  !" 

Through  the  crash  and  smoke  they  could  see  the 
Uhlans  staggering,  sinking,  floundering  about.  A 
mounted  figure  passed  like  a  flash  through  the  mist, 
another  plunged  after,  a  third  wheeled  and  flew  back 
around  the  bend.  But  the  rest  were  doomed.  Al 
ready  the  franc  -  tireurs  were  among  them,  whining 
with  ferocity  ;  the  scene  was  sickening.  One  by  one 
the  battered  bodies  of  the  Uhlans  were  torn  from 
their  frantic  horses  until  only  one  remained  —  Von 
Steyr — drenched  with  blood,  his  sabre  flashing  above 
his  head.  They  pulled  him  from  his  horse,  but  he 
still  raged,  his  bloodshot  eyes  flaring,  his  teeth  gleam 
ing  under  shrunken  lips.  They  beat  him  with  musket- 
stocks^  they  hurled  stones  at  him,  they  struck  him 


<JA   IRA  I  295 

terrible  blows  with  clubbed  lances,  and  he  yelped  like 
a  mad  cur  and  snapped  at  them,  even  when  they  had 
him  down,  even  when  they  shot  into  his  twisting  body. 
And  at  last  they  exterminated  the  rabid  thing  that 
ran  among  them. 

But  the  butchery  was  not  ended ;  around  the  bend 
of  the  road  galloped  more  Uhlans,  halted,  wheeled, 
and  galloped  back  with  harsh  cries.  The  cries  were 
echoed  from  above  and  below  ;  the  franc-tireurs  were 
surrounded. 

Then  Tricasse  raised  his  smeared  sabre,  and,  bend 
ing,  took  the  dead  woman  by  the  wrist,  lifting  her 
limp,  trampled  body  from  the  dust.  He  began  to 
mutter,  holding  his  sabre  above  his  head,  and  the 
men  took  up  the  savage  chant,  standing  close  together 
jn  the  road : 

"  'Qa  ira!    Qa  ira  !'" 
It  was  the  horrible  song  of  the  Terror. 

"  '  Que  faut-il  au  Republicain  ? 

Du  fer,  du  plomb,  et  puis  du  pain  I 

"  'Du  fer  pour  travailler, 

Du  plomb  pour  nous  venger, 
Et  du  pain  pour  nos  freres  !' " 

And  the  fierce  voices  sang  : 

"'Dansons  la  Carmagnole! 
Dansons  la  Carmagnole  ! 

Qa  ira  !    Qa  ira  ! 
Tous  les  cochons  &  la  lanterne  1 

Qa  ira  !    Qa  ira  ! 
Tous  les  Prussiens,  on  les  pendra  !* " 


296  LORRAINE  ! 

The  road  trembled  under  the  advancing  cavalry ; 
they  surged  around  the  bend,  a  chaos  of  rearing  horses 
and  levelled  lances ;  a  ring  of  fire  around  the  little 
group  of  franc-tireurs,  a  cry  from  the  whirl  of  flame 
and  smoke  : 

'  <  France  I" 

So  they  died. 


XXVIII 

THE    BRACOKNIEB 

LORRAINE  had  turned  ghastly  white;  Jack's  shocked 
face  was  colourless  as  he  drew  her  away  from  the  ridge 
with  him  into  the  forest.  The  appalling  horror  had 
stunned  her  ;  her  knees  gave  way,  she  stumbled,  but 
Jack  held  her  up  by  main  force,  pushing  the  under 
growth  aside  and  plunging  straight  on  towards  the 
thickest  depths  of  the  woods.  He  had  not  the  faint 
est  idea  where  he  was ;  he  only  knew  that  for  the  mo 
ment  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  them  to  get  as 
far  away  as  possible  from  the  Uhlans  and  their  butch 
er's  work.  Lorraine  knew  it,  too ;  she  tried  to  re 
cover  her  coolness  and  her  strength. 

"  Here  is  another  road,"  she  said,  faintly ;  "  Jack 
— I — I  am  not  strong  —  I  am — a — little — faint — " 
Tears  were  running  over  her  cheeks. 

Jack  peered  out  through  the  trees  into  the  narrow 
wood-road.  Immediately  a  man  hailed  him  from  some 
where  among  the  trees,  and  he  shrank  back,  teeth  set, 
eyes  fixed  in  desperation. 

"Who  are  you?"  came  the  summons  again  in 
French.  Jack  did  not  answer.  Presently  a  man  in 
a  blue  blouse,  carrying  a  whip,  stepped  out  into  the 
road  from  the  bushes  on  the  farther  side  of  the  slope. 

"  Hallo  !"  he  called,  softly. 


298  LOKRAINE  ! 

Jack  looked  at  him.  The  man  returned  his  glance 
with  a  friendly  and  puzzled  smile. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  Jack,  suspiciously. 

"  Parbleu  !  what  do  you  want  yourself  ?"  asked  the 
peasant,  and  showed  his  teeth  in  a  frank  laugh.  J 

Jack  was  silent. 

The  peasant's  eyes  fell  on  Lorraine,  leaning  against 
a  tree,  her  blanched  face  half  hidden  under  the  masses 
of  her  hair.  "  Oho  I"  he  said — "  a  woman  I" 

Without  the  least  hesitation  he  came  quickly  across 
the  road  and  close  up  to  Jack. 

"  Thought  you  might  be  one  of  those  German 
spies/'  he  said.  "  Is  the  lady  ill  ?  Cceur  Dieu  !  but 
she  is  white  I  Monsieur,  what  has  happened  ?  I  am 
Brocard — Jean  Brocard;  they  know  me  here  in  the 
forest—" 

"  Eh  !"  broke  in  Jack — "  you  say  you  are  Brocard 
the  poacher  ?" 

"  Hey !  That's  it — Brocard,  braconnier — at  your  ser 
vice.  And  you  are  the  young  nephew  of  the  Vicomte 
de  Morteyn,  and  that  is  the  little  chatelaine  De  Nes- 
ville  !  Cceur  Dieu  !  Have  the  Prussians  brutalized 
you,  too  ?  Answer  me,  Monsieur  Marche  —  I  know 
you  and  I  know  the  little  chatelaine — oh,  I  know  !— • 
I,  who  have  watched  you  at  your  pretty  love-making 
there  in  the  De  Nesville  forest,  while  I  was  setting 
my  snares  for  pheasants  and  hares  !  Dame  !  One 
must  live  !  Yes,  I  am  Brocard — I  do  not  lie.  I  have 
taken  enough  game  from  your  uncle  in  my  time ;  can 
I  be  of  service  to  his  nephew  ?" 

He  took  off  his  cap  with  a  merry  smile,  entirely 
frank,  almost  impudent.  Jack  could  have  hugged 
him ;  he  did  not ;  he  simply  told  him  the  exact  truth, 


THE   BRACONNIER  299 

word  by  word,  slowly  and  without  bitterness,  his  arm 
around  Lorraine,  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Coeur  Dieu  !"  muttered  Brocard,  gazing  pityingly 
at  Lorraine ;  "  Fve  half  a  mind  to  turn  franc-tireur 
myself  and  drill  holes  in  the  hides  of  these  Prussian 
swine  !*' 

He  stepped  out  into  the  road  and  beckoned  Jack 
and  Lorraine.  When  they  came  to  his  side  he  pointed 
to  a  stolid  Cottage,  low  and  badly  thatched,  hidden 
among  the  trunks  of  the  young  beech  growth.  A 
team  of  horses  harnessed  to  a  carriage  was  standing 
before  the  door  ;  smoke  rose  from  the  dilapidated 
chimney. 

"I  have  a  guest,"  he  said;  "you  need  not  fear 
him.  Come !" 

In  a  dozen  steps  they  entered  the  low  doorway, 
Brocard  leading,  Lorraine  leaning  heavily  on  Jack's 
shoulder. 

"  Pst  !  There  is  a  thick-headed  Englishman  in  the 
next  room;  let  him  sleep  in  peace,"  murmured  Bro 
card. 

He  threw  a  blanket  over  the  bed,  shoved  the  logs 
in  the  fireplace  with  his  hobnailed  boots  until  the 
sparks  whirled  upward,  and  the  little  flames  began  to 
rnstle  and  snap. 

Lorraine  sank  down  on  the  bed,  covering  her  head 
with  her  arms  ;  Jack  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  fire, 
looking  miserably  from  Lorraine  to  Brocard. 

The  latter  clasped  his  big  rough  hands  between  his 
knees  and  leaned  forward,  chewing  a  stem  of  a  dead 
leaf,  his  bright  eyes  fixed  on  the  reviving  fire. 

"Morteyn  !  Morteyn  \"  he  repeated  ;  "it  exists  no 
longer.  There  are  many  dead  there  —  dead  in  the 


300  LORRAINE  ! 

garden,  in  the  court,  on  the  lawn — dead  floating  in 
the  pond,  the  river  —  dead  rotting  in  the  thickets, 
the  groves,  the  forest.  I  saw  them — I,  Brocard  the 
poacher." 

After  a  moment  he  resumed  : 

"There  were  more  poachers  than  Jean  Brocard  in 
Morteyn.  I  saw  the  Prussian  officers  stand  in  the 
carrefours  and  shoot  the  deer  as  they  ran  in,  a  line 
of  soldiers  beating  the  woods  "behind  them.  I  saw 
the  Saxons  laugh  as  they  shot  at  the  pheasants  and 
partridges ;  I  saw  them  firing  their  revolvers  at  rab 
bits  and  hares.  They  brought  to  their  camp-fires  a 
great  camp-wagon  piled  high  with  game — boars,  deer, 
pheasants,  and  hares.  For  that  I  hated  them.  Per 
haps  I  touched  one  or  two  of  them  while  I  was  firing 
at  white  blackbirds — I  really  cannot  tell." 

He  turned  an  amused  yellow  eye  on  Jack,  but  his 
face  sobered  the  next  moment,  and  he  continued  :  "  I 
heard  the  fusillade  on  the  Saint-Lys  highway ;  I  did 
not  go  to  inquire  if  they  were  amusing  themselves. 
Ma  foi !  I  myself  keep  away  from  Uhlans  when  God 
permits.  And  so  these  Uhlan  wolves  got  old  Tricasse 
at  last.  Zut !  O'est  embetant !  And  poor  old  Pas- 
serat,  too — and  Brun,  and  all  the  rest !  Tonnerre  de 
Dieu  !  I — but,  no — no  !  I  am  doing  very  well — I, 
Jean  Brocard,  poacher ;  I  am  doing  quite  well,  in  my 
little  way." 

An  ugly  curling  of  his  lip,  a  glimpse  of  two  white 
teeth — that  was  all  Jack  saw  ;  but  he  understood  that 
the  poacher  had  probably  already  sent  more  than  one 
Prussian  to  his  account. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  he  said,  slowly  — he  had 
little  sympathy  with  guerilla  assassination — "  but  Fd 


THE  BBACONNIER  301 

rather  hear  how  yon  are  going  to  get  us  out  of  the 
country  and  through  the  Prussian  lines." 

"  You  take  much  for  granted,"  laughed  the  poacher. 
"  Now,  did  I  offer  to  do  any  such  thing  ?" 

"But  you  will,"  said  Jack,  "for  the  honour  of  the 
Province  and  the  vicomte,  whose  game,  it  appears, 
has  afforded  you  both  pleasure  and  profit." 

"  Cceur  Dieu  !"  cried  Brocard,  laughing  until  his 
bright  eyes  grew  moist.  "You  have  spoken  the  truth, 
Monsieur  Marche.  But  you  have  not  added  what  I 
place  first  of  all;  it  is  for  the  gracious  chatelaine  of 
the  Chateau  de  Nesville  that  I,  Jean  Brocard,  play  at 
hazard  with  the  Prussians,  the  stakes  being  my  skin. 
I  will  bring  you  through  the  lines ;  leave  it  to  me." 

Before  Jack  could  speak  again  the  door  of  the  next 
room  opened,  and  a  man  appeared,  dressed  in  tweeds, 
booted  and  spurred,  and  carrying  a  travelling-satchel. 
There  was  a  moment's  astonished  silence. 

"Marche  !"  cried  Archibald  Grahame  ;  "what  the 
deuce  are  you  doing  here  ?"  They  shook  hands,  look 
ing  questioningly  at  each  other. 

"Times  have  changed  since  we  breakfasted  by 
candlelight  at  Morteyn,"  said  Jack,  trying  to  regain 
his  coolness. 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  Grahame,  sympathetically. 
"  It's  devilish  rough  on  you  all — on  Madame  de  Mor 
teyn.  I  can  never  forget  her  charming  welcome. 
Dear  me,  but  this  war  is  disgusting  ;  isn't  it  now  ? 
And  what  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  ?  Heavens, 
man,  you're  a  sight !" 

Lorraine  sat  up  on  the  bed  at  the  sound  of  the 
voices.  When  Grahame  saw  her,  saw  her  plight — 
the  worn  shoes,  the  torn,  stained  bodice  and  skirt,  the 


802  LORRAINE  ! 

pale  face  and  sad  eyes — he  was  too  much  affected  to 
speak.  Jack  told  him  their  situation  in  a  dozen 
words;  the  sight  of  Lorraine's  face  told  the  rest. 

"  Now  we'll  arrange  that/'  cried  Grahame.  "  Don't 
worry,  Marche.  Pray  do  not  alarm  yourself,  Made 
moiselle  de  Nesville,  for  I  have  a  species  of  post- 
chaise  at  the  door  and  a  pair  of  alleged  horses,  and 
the  whole  outfit  is  at  your  disposal;  indeed  it  is,  and 
so  am  I.  Come  now  ! — and  so  am  I."  He  hesitated, 
and  then  continued:  "I  have  passes  and  papers,  and 
enough  to  get  you  through  a  dozen  lines.  Now,  where 
do  you  wish  to  go  ?" 

"  When  are  you  to  start  ?"  replied  Jack,  gratefully. 

"  Say  in  half  an  hour.  Can  Mademoiselle  de  Nes- 
ville  stand  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Lorraine,  with  a  tired, 
quaint  politeness  that  made  them  smile. 

"  Then  we  wish  to  get  as  near  to  the  French  Army 
as  we  can,"  said  Jack.  "  I  have  a  mission  of  impor 
tance.  If  you  could  drive  us  to  the  Luxembourg 
frontier  we  would  be  all  right — if  we  had  any  money." 

"  You  shall  have  everything,"  cried  Grahame ; "  you 
shall  be  driven  where  you  wish.  I'm  looking  for  a 
battle,  but  I  can't  seem  to  find  one.  I've  been  driving 
about  this  wreck  of  a  country  for  the  last  three  days ; 
I  missed  Amonvillers  on  the  18th,  and  Bezonville  two 
days  before.  I  saw  the  battles  of  Reichshofen  and 
Borney.  The  Germans  lost  three  thousand  five  hun 
dred  men  at  Beaumont,  and  I  was  not  there  either. 
But  there's  a  bigger  thing  on  the  carpet,  somewhere 
near  the  Meuse,  and  I'm  trying  to  find  out  where 
and  when.  I've  wasted  a  lot  of  time  loafing  about 
Metz.  I  want  to  see  something  on  a  larger  scale,  not 


THE  BBACONNIER  303 

that  the  Metz  business  isn't  large  enough — two  hun 
dred  thousand  men,  six  hundred  cannon — and  the  Ked 
Prince — licking  their  chops  and  getting  up  an  appe 
tite  for  poor  old  Bazaine  and  his  battered,  diseased, 
starved,  disheartened  army,  caged  under  the  forts  and 
citadel  of  a  city  scarcely  provisioned  for  a  regiment. 

Lorraine,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  looked  at 
him  silently,  but  her  eyes  were  full  of  a  horror  and 
anguish  that  Grahame  could  not  help  seeing. 

"  The  Emperor  is  with  the  army  yet,"  he  said,  cheer 
fully.  "  Who  knows  what  may  happen  in  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  ?  Mademoiselle  de  Nesville,  there 
are  many  shots  to  be  fired  yet  for  the  honour  of 
France." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lorraine. 

Instinctively  Brocard  and  Grahame  moved  towards 
the  door  and  out  into  the  road.  It  was  perhaps 
respect  for  the  grief  of  this  young  French  girl  that 
sobered  their  faces  and  sent  them  off  to  discuss  plans 
and  ways  and  means  of  getting  across  the  Luxem 
bourg  frontier  without  further  delay.  Jack,  left  alone 
with  Lorraine  in  the  dim,  smoky  room,  rose  and  drew 
her  to  the  fire. 

"  Don't  be  unhappy,"  he  said.  "  The  tide  of  fort 
une  must  turn  soon ;  this  cannot  go  on.  We  will  find 
the  Emperor  and  do  our  part.  Don't  look  that  way, 
Lorraine,  my  darling  !*'  He  took  her  in  his  arms. 
She  put  both  arms  around  his  neck,  and  hid  her  face. 

For  a  while  he  held  her,  watching  the  fire  with 
troubled  eyes.  The  room  grew  darker  ;  a  wind  arose 
among  the  forest  trees,  stirring  dried  leaves  on  brittle 
stems  ;  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  drifted  like  gray  snow- 
flakes. 


304  LORRAINE ! 

Her  stillness  began  to  trouble  him.  He  bent  in  the 
dusk  to  see  her  face.  She  was  asleep.  Terror,  pity, 
anguish,  the  dreadful  uncertainty,  had  strained  her 
child's  nerves  to  the  utmost ;  after  that  came  the  deep 
fatigue  that  follows  torture,  and  she  lay  in  his  arms, 
limp,  pallid,  exhausted.  Her  sleep  was  almost  the  un 
consciousness  of  coma  ;  she  scarcely  breathed. 

The  fire  on  the  hearth  went  out ;  the  smoking  em 
bers  glimmered  under  feathery  ashes.  Grahame  en 
tered,  carrying  a  lantern. 

"  Come,"  he  whispered.  "  Poor  little  thing  ! — can't 
I  help  you,  March e  ?  Wait;  here's  a  rug.  So — wrap 
it  around  her  feet.  Can  you  carry  her  ?  Then  fol 
low  ;  here,  touch  my  coat  —  Fm  going  to  put  out 
the  light  in  my  lantern.  Now  —  gently.  Here  we 
are." 

Jack  climbed  into  the  post-chaise ;  Grahame,  hold 
ing  Lorraine  in  his  arms,  leaned  in,  and  Jack  took  her 
again.  She  had  not  awakened. 

"Brocard  and  I  are  going  to  sit  in  front,"  whis 
pered  Grahame.  "  Is  all  right  within  ?" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Jack. 

The  chaise  moved  on  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly 
stopped  with  a  jerk. 

Jack  heard  Grahame  whisper,  "Sit  still,  you  fool ! 
I've  got  passes;  sit  still!" 

"  Let  go  !"  murmured  Brocard. 

"  Sit  still !"  repeated  Gr  lame,  in  an  angry  whisper ; 
e '  it's  all  right,  I  tell  you.  Be  silent  I" 

There  was  a  noiseless  struggle,  a  curse  half  breathed, 
then  a  figure  slipped  from  the  chaise  into  the  road. 

Grahame  sank  back.  "  Marche,  that  damned  poach 
er  will  hang  us  all.  What  am  I  to  do  ?" 


THE   BRACONNIER  305 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Jack,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice. 

"  Can't  yon  hear  ?  There's  an  Uhlan  in  the  road  in 
front.  That  fool  means  to  kill  him." 

Jack  strained  his  eyes  in  the  darkness ;  the  road 
ahead  was  black  and  silent. 

"  Yon  can't  see  him/'  whispered  Grahame.  "  Bro- 
card  canght  the  distant  rattle  of  his  lance  in  the  stir- 
rnp.  He's  gone  to  kill  him,  the  bloodthirsty  imbecile  I" 

"  To  shoot  him  ?''  asked  Jack,  aghast. 

"No;  he's  got  his  broad  wood -knife  —  that's  the 
way  these  brutes  kill.  Hark  !  Good  God  !" 

A  scream  rang  through  the  forest ;  something  was 
coming  towards  them,  too — a  horse,  galloping,  gallop 
ing,  pounding,  thundering  past — a  frantic  horse  that 
tossed  its  head  and  tore  on  through  the  night,  mane 
flying,  bridle  loose.  And  there,  crouched  on  the  sad 
dle,  two  men  swayed,  locked  in  a  death-clench — an 
Uhlan  with  ghostly  face  and  bared  teeth,  and  Brocard, 
the  poacher,  cramped  and  clinging  like  a  panther  to 
his  prey  his  broad  knife  flashing  in  the  gloom. 

In  a  second  they  were  gone  ;  far  away  in  the  for 
est  the  hoof  strokes  echoed  farther  and  farther,  duller, 
duller,  then  ceased. 

"  Drive  on,"  muttered  Jack,  with  lipa  that  could 
barely  form  the  words. 


XXIX 

THE   MESSAGE   OF  THE   FLAG 

IT  was  dawn  when  Lorraine  awoke,  stifling  a  cry  of 
dismay.  At  the  same  moment  she  saw  Jack,  asleep, 
huddled  into  a  corner  of  the  post-chaise,  his  bloodless, 
sunken  face  smeared  with  the  fine  red  dust  that  drifted 
in  from  the  creaking  wheels.  Grahame,  driving  on 
the  front  seat,  heard  her  move. 

"Are  you  better  ?"  he  asked,  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  thank  you;  I  am  better.     Where  are  we?" 

Grahame's  face  sobered. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said  ;  "  I  don't  know, 
and  I  can't  find  out.  One  thing  is  certain  —  we've 
passed  the  last  German  post,  that  is  all  1  >nc*7.  We 
ought  to  be  near  the  frontier." 

He  looked  back  at  Jack,  smiled  again,  and  lowered 
his  voice  : 

"  It's  fortunate  we  have  passed  the  German  lines, 
because  that  last  cavalry  outpost  took  all  my  papers 
and  refused  to  return  them.  I  haven't  an  idea  what 
to  do  now,  except  to  go  on  as  far  as  we  can.  I  wish 
we  could  find  a  village ;  the  horses  are  not  exhausted, 
but  they  need  rest." 

Lorraine  listened,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  he 
said.  She  leaned  over  Jack,  looking  down  into  his 
brushing  the  dust  from  his  brow  with  her  fin* 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG  307 

ger-tips,  smoothing  his  hair,  with  a  timid,,  hesitat 
ing  glance  at  Grahame,  who  understood  and  gravely 
turned  his  back. 

Jack  slept.  She  nestled  down,  pressing  her  soft, 
cool  cheek  close  to  his  ;  her  eyes  drooped  ;  her  lips 
parted.  So  they  slept  together,  cheek  to  cheek. 

A  mist  drove  across  the  meadows ;  from  the  plains, 
dotted  with  poplars,  a  damp  wind  blew  in  puffs,  driv 
ing  the  fog  before  it  until  the  blank  vapour  dulled  the 
faint  morning  light  and  the  dawn  faded  into  a  colour 
less  twilight.  Spectral  poplars,  rank  on  rank,  loomed 
up  in  the  mist,  endless  rows  of  them,  fading  from  sight 
as  the  vapours  crowded  in,  appearing  again  as  the  fog 
thinned  in  a  current  of  cooler  wind. 

Grahame,  driving  slowly,  began  to  nod  in  the  thick 
ening  fog.  At  moments  he  roused  himself  ;  the  horses 
walked  on  and  the  wheels  creaked  in  the  red  dust. 
Hour  after  hour  passed,  but  it  grew  no  lighter.  Drowsy 
and  listless -eyed  the  horses  toiled  up  and  down  the 
little  hills,  and  moved  stiffly  on  along  the  intermi 
nable  road,  shrouded  in  a  gray  fog  that  hid  the  very 
road-side  shrubbery  from  sight,  choked  thicket  and 
grove,  and  blotted  the  grimy  carriage  windows. 

Jack  was  awakened  with  startling  abruptness  by 
Grahame,  who  shook  his  shoulders,  leaning  into  the 
post-chaise  from  the  driver's  seat. 

"There's  something  in  front,  Marche,"  he  said. 
"  We've  fallen  in  with  a  baggage  convoy,  I  fancy.  Lis 
ten  !  Don't  you  hear  the  camp-wagons  ?  Confound 
this  fog  !  I  can't  see  a  rod  ahead." 

Lorraine,  also  now  wide  awake,  leaned  from  the 
•viiidow.  The  blank  vapour  choked  everything.  Jack 
rubbed  his  eyes;  his  limbs  ached;  he  could  scarcely 


308  LORRAINE ! 

move.  Somebody  was  running  on  the  road  in  front — 
the  sound  of  heavy  boots  in  the  dust  came  nearer  and 
nearer. 

"  Look  out  V  shouted  Grahame,  in  French ; 
"  there's  a  team  here  in  the  road  !  Passez  au  large  \" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  phantoms  surged  up  in 
the  mist  around  them ;  from  every  side  faces  looked 
into  the  carriage  windows,  passing,  repassing,  disap 
pearing,  only  to  appear  again — ghostly,  shadowy,  spec 
tral. 

"  Soldiers  !"  muttered  Jack. 

At  the  same  instant  Grahame  seized  the  lines  and 
wheeled  his  horses  just  in  time  to  avoid  collision  with 
a  big  wagon  in  front.  As  the  post-chaise  passed,  more 
wagons  loomed  up  in  the  fog,  one  behind  another; 
soldiers  took  form  around  them,  voices  came  to  their 
ears,  dulled  by  the  mist. 

Suddenly  a  pale  shaft  of  light  streamed  through  the 
fog  above  ;  the  restless,  shifting  vapours  glimmered  ; 
a  dazzling  blot  grew  from  the  mist.  It  was  the  sun. 
Little  by  little  the  landscape  became  more  distinct ; 
the  pallid,  watery  sky  lightened ;  a  streak  of  blue  cut 
the  zenith.  Everywhere  in  the  road  great,  lumbering 
wagons  stood,  loaded  with  straw  ;  the  sickly  morning 
light  fell  on  silent  files  of  infantry,  lining  the  road  on 
either  hand. 

"  It's  a  convoy  of  wounded,"  said  Grahame.  "  We're 
in  the  middle  of  it.  Shall  we  go  back  ?" 

A  wagon  in  front  of  them  started  on ;  at  the  first 
jolt  a  cry  sounded  from  the  straw,  another,  another — 
the  deep  sighs  of  the  dying,  the  groans  of  the  stricken, 
the  muttered  curses  of  teamsters — rose  in  one  terrible 
plaint.  Another  wagon  started— the  wounded  wailed; 


THE  MESSAGE  OP  THE  FLAG  309 

another  started — another — another — and  the  long  train 
creaked  on,  the  air  vibrating  with  the  weak  protesta 
tions  of  miserable,  mangled  creatures  tossing  their 
thin  arms  towards  the  sky.  And  now,  too,  the  soldiers 
were  moving  out  into  the  road-side  bushes,  unslinging 
rifles  and  fixing  bayonets  ;  a  mounted  officer  galloped 
past,  shouting  something  ;  other  mounted  officers  fol 
lowed  ;  a  bugle  sounded  persistently  from  the  distant 
head  of  the  column. 

Everywhere  soldiers  were  running  along  the  road 
now,  grouping  together  under  the  poplar-trees,  heads 
turned  to  the  plain.  Some  teamsters  pushed  an  empty 
wagon  out  beyond  the  line  of  trees  and  overturned  it ; 
others  stood  up  in  their  wagons,  reins  gathered,  long 
whips  swinging.  The  wounded  moaned  incessantly; 
some  sat  up  in  the  straw,  heads  turned  also  towards  the 
dim,  gray  plain. 

"  It's  an  attack,"  said  Grahame,  coolly.  "  Marche, 
we're  in  for  it  now  !" 

After  a  moment,  he  added,  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
Look  there  !" 

Out  on  the  plain,  where  the  mist  was  clearing  along 
the  edge  of  a  belt  of  trees,  something  was  moving. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Lorraine,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice. 

Before  Grahame  could  speak  a  tumult  of  cries  and 
groans  burst  out  along  the  line  of  wagons ;  a  bugle 
clanged  furiously ;  the  teamsters  shouted  and  pointed 
with  their  whips. 

Out  of  the  shadow  of  the  grove  two  glittering 
double  lines  of  horsemen  trotted,  halted,  formed,  ex 
tended  right  and  left,  and  trotted  on  again.  To  the 
right  another  darker  and  more  compact  square  of 

21 


810  LORRAINE ! 

horsemen  broke  into  a  gallop,  swinging  a  thicket  of 
lances  above  their  heads,  from  which  fluttered  a  mass 
of  black  and  white  pennons. 

" Cuirassiers  and  Uhlans!"  muttered  Grahame, 
under  his  breath.  He  stood  up  in  his  seat ;  Jack  rose 
also,  straining  his  eyes,  but  Lorraine  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  crouched  in  the  chaise,  her  head  buried 
in  the  cushions. 

The  silence  was  enervating  ;  even  the  horses  turned 
their  gentle  eyes  wonderingly  to  that  line  of  steel  and 
lances ;  even  the  wounded,  tremulous,  haggard,  held 
their  breath  between  clenched  teeth  and  stiff,  swollen 
lips. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu  !  Serrez  les  rangs,  tas  de  bleus !" 
yelled  an  officer,  riding  along  the  edge  of  the  road,  re 
volver  in  one  hand,  naked  sabre  flashing  in  the  other. 

A  dozen  artillerymen  were  puphing  a  mitrailleuse 
up  behind  the  overturned  wagon.  It  stuck  in  the 
ditch. 

"  A  nous,  la  ligne  !"  they  shouted,  dragging  at 
the  wheels  until  a  handful  of  fantassins  ran  out  and 
pulled  the  little  death  machine  into  place. 

"  Du  calme  !  Du  calme  !  Ne  tirez  pas  trop  vite, 
menagez  vos  cartouches  !  Tenez  ferme,  mes  enfants  !" 
said  an  old  officer,  dismounting  and  walking  coolly 
out  beyond  the  line  of  trees. 

"  Oui !  oui !  comptez  sur  nous  !  Vive  le  Colonel !" 
shouted  the  soldiers,  shaking  their  chassepots  in  the 
air. 

On  came  the  long  lines,  distinct  now — the  blue  and 
yellow  of  the  Uhlans,  the  white  and  scarlet  of  the 
cuirassiers,  plain  against  the  gray  trees  and  grayer 
pastures.  Suddenly  a  level  sheet  of  flame  played 


THE  MESSAGE  OP  THE  FLAG  311 

around  the  stalled  wagons ;  the  smoke  gushed  out 
over  the  dark  ground;  the  air  split  with  the  crash  of 
rifles.  In  the  uproar  bugles  blew  furiously  and  the 
harsh  German  cavalry  trumpets,  peal  on  peal,  nearer, 
nearer,  nearer,  answered  their  clangour. 

"  Hourra  !     Preussen  \" 

The  deep,  thundering  shout  rose  hoarsely  through 
the  rifles'  roaring  fusillade  ;  horses  reared  ;  teamsters 
lashed  and  swore,  and  the  rattle  of  harness  and  wheel 
broke  out  and  was  smothered  in  the  sheeted  crashing 
of  the  volleys  and  the  shock  of  the  coming  charge. 

And  now  it  burst  like  an  ocean  roller,  smashing 
into  the  wagon  lines,  a  turmoil  of  smoke  and  flashes, 
a  chaos  of  maddened,  plunging  horses  and  bayonets, 
and  the  flashing  downward  strokes  of  heavy  sabres. 
Grahame  seized  the  reins,  and  lashed  his  horses ;  a 
cuirassier  drove  his  bloody,  foam  -  covered  charger 
into  the  road  in  front  and  fell,  butchered  by  a  dozen 
bayonets. 

Three  Uhlans  followed,  whirling  their  lances  and 
crashing  through  the  lines,  their  frantic  horses  crazed 
by  blows  and  wounds.  More  cuirassiers  galloped  up ; 
the  crush  became  horrible.  A  horse  and  steel-clad 
rider  were  hurled  bodily  under  the  wagon- wheels — an 
Uhlan,  transfixed  by  a  bayonet,  still  clung  to  his  shat 
tered  lance-butt,  screaming,  staggering  in  his  stirrups. 
Suddenly  the  window  of  the  post-chaise  was  smashed 
in  and  a  horse  and  rider  pitched  under  the  wheels, 
almost  overturning  carriage  and  occupants. 

"Easy,  Marche I"  shouted  Grahame.  " Don't  try  to 
get  out !" 

Jack  heard  him,  but  sprang  into  the  road.  For  an 
instant  he  reeled  about  in  the  crush  and  smoke, 


312  LORRAINE  ! 

stooping,  he  seized  a  prostrate  man,  lifted  him,  and 
with  one  tremendous  effort  pitched  him  into  the 
chaise. 

Grahame,  standing  np  in  the  driver's  seat,  watched 
him  in  amazement  for  a  moment ;  but  his  horses  de 
manded  all  his  attention  now,  for  they  were  backing 
under  the  pressure  of  the  cart  in  front. 

As  for  Jack,  once  in  the  chaise  again  he  pulled 
the  unconscious  man  to  the  seat,  calling  Lorraine  to 
hold  him  up.  Then  he  tore  the  Uhlan's  helmet  from 
the  stunned  man's  head  and  flung  it  out  into  the  road ; 
after  it  he  threw  sabre  and  revolver. 

"  Give  me  that  rug !"  he  cried  to  Lorraine,  and  he 
seized  it  and  wrapped  it  around  the  Uhlan's  legs. 

Grahame  had  managed  to  get  clear  of  the  other 
wagon  now  and  was  driving  out  into  the  pasture,  al 
most  obscured  by  rifle  smoke. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  faltered  Lorraine— " it  is  Kickerl!" 

It  was  Kickerl,  stunned  by  the  fall  from  his  horse, 
lying  back  between  them. 

"They'd  kill  him  if  they  saw  his  uniform!"  mut 
tered  Jack.  ' '  Hark  !  the  French  are  cheering  ! 
They've  repulsed  the  charge  !  Grahame,  do  you  hear  ? 
— do  you  hear  ?" 

"I  hear!"  shouted  Grahame.  "These  horses  are 
crazy;  I  can't  hold  them." 

The  troops  around  them,  hidden  in  the  smoke,  be 
gan  to  cheer  frantically ;  the  mitrailleuse  whirred  and 
rolled  out  its  hail  of  death. 

"  Vive  la  France !  Mort  aux  Prussiens  !"  howled 
the  soldiers.  A  mounted  officer,  his  cap  on  the  point 
of  his  sabre,  his  face  laid  open  by  a  lance-thrust,  stood 
shouting,  "Vive  la  Nation  !  Vive  la  Nation!"  while 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG  313 

a  boyish  bugler  shook  his  brass  bugle  in  the  air, 
speechless  with  joy. 

Grahame  drove  the  terrified  horses  along  the  line 
of  wagons  for  a  few  paces,  then,  wheeling,  let  them 
gallop  straight  out  into  the  pasture  on  the  left  of  the 
road,  where  a  double  line  of  trees  in  the  distance 
marked  the  course  of  a  parallel  road. 

The  chaise  lurched  and  jolted;  Rickerl,  unconscious 
still,  fell  in  a  limp  heap,  but  Jack  and  Lorraine  held 
him  up  and  watched  the  horses,  now  galloping  under 
slackened  reins. 

"  There  are  houses  there  !  Look !"  cried  Gra 
hame.  ' '  By  Jove,  there's  a  Luxembourg  gendarme, 
too.  I  —  I  believe  we're  in  Luxembourg,  Marche  ! 
Upon  my  soul,  we  are  !  See  !  There  is  a  frontier 
post!" 

He  tried  to  stop  the  horses ;  two  strange  -  looking 
soldiers,  wearing  glossy  shakos  and  white  -  and  -  blue 
aiguillettes,  began  to  bawl  at  him ;  a  group  of  peasants 
before  the  cottages  fled,  screaming. 

Grahame  threw  all  his  strength  into  his  arms  and 
dragged  the  horses  to  a  stand-still. 

"Are  we  in  Luxembourg?"  he  called  to  the  gen 
darmes,  who  ran  up,  gesticulating  violently.  "  Are 
we  ?  Good  !  Hold  those  horses,  if  you  please,  gentle 
men.  There's  a  wounded  man  here.  Carry  him  to  one 
of  those  houses.  Marche,  lift  him,  if  you  can.  Hello  ! 
his  arm  is  broken  at  the  wrist.  Go  easy — you,  I  mean 
—Now  !" 

Lorraine,  aided  by  Jack,  stepped  from  the  post- 
chaise  and  stood  shivering  as  two  peasants  came  for 
ward  and  lifted  Rickerl.  When  they  had  taken  him 
away  to  one  of  the  stone  houses  she  turned  quietly  to 


814  LORRAINE  f 

a  gendarme  and  said :  ' f  Monsieur,  can  you  tell  me 
where  the  Emperor  is  ?" 

"  The  Emperor  ?"  repeated  the  gendarme.  "  The 
Emperor  is  with  his  army,  below  there  along  the 
Meuse.  They  are  fighting — since  four  this  morning 
— at  Sedan." 

He  pointed  to  the  southeast. 

She  looked  out  across  the  wide  plain. 

"  That  convoy  is  going  to  Sedan,"  said  the  gen 
darme.  "  The  army  is  near  Sedan ;  there  is  a  battle 
there." 

"Thank  you," said  Lorraine,  quietly.  "Jack,  the 
Emperor  is  near  Sedan." 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded  ;  "we  will  go  when  you  can  stand 
it." 

"  I  am  ready.  Oh,  we  must  not  wait,  Jack ;  did 
you  not  see  how  they  even  attacked  the  wounded  ?" 

He  turned  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  the  first  French  cheer  I  have  heard,"  she 
continued,  feverishly.  "  They  beat  back  those  Prus 
sians  and  cheered  for  France  !  Oh,  Jack,  there  is 
time  yet !  France  is  rising  now — France  is  resisting. 
We  must  do  our  part ;  we  must  not  wait.  Jack,  I  am 
ready !" 

"  We  can't  walk,"  he  muttered. 

"We  will  go  with  the  convoy.  They  are  on  the 
way  to  Sedan,  where  the  Emperor  is.  Jack,  they  are 
fighting  at  Sedan !  Do  you  understand  ?" 

She  came  closer,  looking  up  into  his  troubled  eyes. 

"  Show  me  the  box,"  she  whispered. 

He  drew  the  flat  steel  box  from  his  coat. 

After  a  moment  she  said,  "Nothing  must  stop  us 
now.  I  am  ready  I" 


THE  MESSAGE    OP  THE   FLAG  315 

"Yon  are  not  ready,"  he  replied,  sullenly;  "you 
need  rest." 

"<Tiens  ta  Foy,' Jack." 

The  colour  dyed  his  pale  cheeks  and  he  straight 
ened  up.  "  Always,  Lorraine." 

Grahame  called  to  them  from  the  cottage  :  "  You 
can  get  a  horse  and  wagon  here  !  Come  and  eat  some 
thing  at  once !" 

Slowly,  with  weary,  drooping  heads,  they  walked 
across  the  road,  past  a  wretched  custom-house,  where 
two  painted  sentry-boxes  leaned,  past  a  squalid  barn 
yard  full  of  amber-coloured,  unsavoury  puddles  and 
gaunt  poultry,  up  to  the  thatched  stone  house  where 
Grahame  stood  waiting.  Over  the  door  hung  a  with 
ered  branch  of  mistletoe,  above  this  swung  a  sign  : 

ESTAMINET. 

"  Your  Uhlan  is  in  a  bad  way,  I  think,"  began  Gra 
hame  ;  "he's  got  a  broken  arm  and  two  broken  ribs. 
This  is  a  nasty  little  place  to  leave  him  in." 

' '  Grahame,"  said  Jack,  earnestly,  "  Fve  got  to  leave 
him.  I  am  forced  to  go  to  Sedan  as  soon  as  we  can 
swallow  a  bit  of  bread  and  wine.  The  Uhlan  is  my 
comrade  and  friend ;  he  may  be  more  than  that  some 
day.  What  on  earth  am  I  to  do  ?" 

They  followed  Grahame  into  a  room  where  a  table 
stood  covered  by  a  moist,  unpleasant  cloth.  The  meal 
was  simple — a  half-bottle  of  sour  red  wine  for  each 
guest,  a  fragment  of  black  bread,  and  a  ragout  made 
of  something  that  had  once  been  alive — possibly  a 
chicken,  possibly  a  sLeep. 

Grahame  finished  his  wine,  bolted  a  morsel  or  two 


816  LORRAINE  \ 

of  bread  and  ragout,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  whimsical  glance  at  Lorraine. 

"  Now,  111  tell  yon  what  111  do,  Marche,"  he  said. 
' '  My  horses  need  rest,  so  do  I,  so  does  our  wounded 
Uhlan.  I'll  stay  in  this  garden  of  Eden  until  noon, 
if  you  like,  then  I'll  drive  our  wounded  man  to  Die- 
kirch,  where  the  Hotel  des  Ardennes  is  as  good  an  inn 
as  you  can  find  in  Luxembourg,  or  in  Belgium  either. 
Then  111  follow  you  to  Sedan." 

They  all  rose  from  the  table ;  Lorraine  came  and 
held  out  her  hand,  thanking  Grahame  for  his  kindness 
to  them  and  to  Rickerl. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Grahame,  going  with  them  to  the 
door.  "There's  your  dog -cart;  it's  paid  for,  and 
here's  a  little  bag  of  French  money — no  thanks,  my 
dear  fellow ;  we  can  settle  all  that  later.  But  what 
the  deuce  you  two  children  are  going  to  Sedan  for  is 
more  than  my  old  brains  can  comprehend." 

He  stood,  with  handsome  head  bared,  and  bent 
gravely  over  Lorraine's  hands — impulsive  little  hands, 
now  trembling,  as  the  tears  of  gratitude  trembled  on 
her  lashes. 

And  so  they  drove  away  in  their  dog-cart,  down  the 
flat,  poplar-bordered  road,  silent,  deeply  moved,  won 
dering  what  the  end  might  be. 

The  repeated  shocks,  the  dreadful  experiences  and 
encounters,  the  indelible  impressions  of  desolation 
and  grief  and  suffering  had  deadened  in  Lorraine  all 
sense  of  personal  suffering  or  grief.  For  her  land 
and  her  people  her  heart  had  bled,  drop  by  drop — her 
sensitive  soul  lay  crushed  within  her.  Nothing  of 
selfish  despair  came  over  her,  because  France  still 
stood.  She  had  suffered  too  much  to  remember  her- 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE   FLAG  817 

self.  Even  her  love  for  Jack  .had  become  merely  a 
detail.  She  loved  as  she  breathed — involuntarily. 
There  was  nothing  new  or  strange  or  sweet  in  it — 
nothing  was  left  of  its  freshness,  its  grace,  its  deli 
cacy.  The  bloom  was  gone. 

In  her  tired  breast  her  heart  beat  faintly ;  its  burden 
was  the  weary  repetition  of  a  prayer  —  an  old,  old 
prayer — a  supplication — for  mercy,  for  France,  and  for 
the  salvation  of  its  people.  Where  she  had  learned  it 
she  did  not  know ;  how  she  remembered  it,  why  she 
repeated  it,  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour,  she 
could  not  tell.  But  it  was  always  beating  in  her  heart, 
this  prayer — old,  so  old  ! — and  half  forgotten — 

'"To  Thee,  Mary,  exalted— 
To  Thee,  Mary,  exalted—' " 

Her  tired  heart  took  up  the  rhythm  where  her  mind 
refused  to  follow,  and  she  leaned  on  Jack's  shoulder, 
looking  out  over  the  gray  land  with  innocent,  sorrow 
ful  eyes. 

Vaguely  she  remembered  her  lonely  childhood,  but 
did  not  grieve ;  vaguely  she  thought  of  her  youth, 
passing  away  from  a  tear-drenched  land  through  the 
smoke  of  battles.  She  did  not  grieve — the  last  sad 
tear  for  self  had  fallen  and  quenched  the  last  smoul 
dering  spark  of  selfishness.  The  wasted  hills  of  her 
province  seemed  to  rise  from  their  ashes  and  sear  her 
eyes;  the  flames  of  a  devastated  land  dazzled  and  pained 
her ;  every  drop  of  French  blood  that  drenched  the 
mother-land  seemed  drawn  from  her  own  veins — every 
cry  of  terror,  every  groan,  every  gasp,  seemed  wrenched 
from  her  own  slender  body.  The  quiet,  wide-eyed  dead 


318  LORRAINE  ! 

accused  her,  the  stark  skeletons  of  ravaged  houses  re 
proached  her. 

She  turned  to  the  man  she  loved,  but  it  was  the 
voice  of  a  dying  land  that  answered,  ee  Come  I"  and 
she  responded  with  all  a  passion  of  surrender.  What 
had  she  accomplished  as  yet  ?  In  the  bitterness  of 
her  loneliness  she  answered,  "Nothing."  She  had 
worked  by  the  wayside  as  she  passed — in  the  field,  in 
the  hospital,  in  the  midst  of  beleaguered  soldiers.  But 
what  was  that  ?  There  was  something  else  further  on 
that  called  her — what  she  did  not  know,  and  yet  she 
knew  it  was  waiting  somewhere  for  her.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  death,"  she  mused,  leaning  on  Jack's  shoulder. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  his  death."  That  did  not  frighten  her; 
if  it  was  to  be,  it  would  be ;  but,  through  it,  through 
the  hideous  turmoil  of  fire  and  blood  and  pounding 
guns  and  shouting — through  death  itself — somewhere, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  dreadful  valley  of  terror,  lay 
salvation  for  the  mother-land.  Thither  they  were 
bound — she  and  the  man  she  loved. 

All  around  them  lay  the  flat,  colourless  plains  of 
Luxembourg ;  to  the  east,  the  wagon-train  of  wounded 
crawled  across  the  landscape  under  a  pallid  sky.  The 
road  now  bore  towards  the  frontier  again ;  Jack  shook 
the  reins  listlessly  ;  the  horse  loped  on.  Slowly  they 
approached  the  border,  where,  on  the  French  side, 
the  convoy  crept  forward  enveloped  in  ragged  clouds 
of  dust.  Now  they  could  distinguish  the  drivers, 
blue-bloused  and  tattered,  swinging  their  long  whips ; 
now  they  saw  the  infantry,  plodding  on  behind  the 
wagons,  stringing  along  on  either  flank,  their  officers 
riding  with  bent  heads,  the  red  legs  of  the  fantassins 
blurred  through  the  red  dust. 


THE  MESSAGE  OP  THE  FLAG  319 

At  the  junction  of  the  two  roads  stood  a  boundary 
post.  A  slovenly  Luxembourg  gendarme  sat  on  a 
stone  under  it,  smoking  and  balancing  his  rifle  over 
both  knees. 

"You  can't  pass,"  he  said,  looking  up  as  Jack  drew 
rein.  A  moment  later  he  pocketed  a  gold  piece  that 
Jack  offered,  yawned,  laughed,  and  yawned  again. 

"You  can  buy  contraband  cigars  at  two  sous  each 
in  the  village  below,"  he  observed. 

"  What  news  is  there  to  tell  ?"  demanded  Jack. 

"  News  ?  The  same  as  usual.  They  are  shelling 
Strassbourg  with  mortars  ;  the  city  is  on  fire.  Six  hun 
dred  women  and  children  left  the  city ;  the  Inter 
national  Aid  Society  demanded  it." 

Presently  he  added  :  "A  big  battle  was  fought 
this  morning  along  the  Meuse.  You  can  hear  the 
guns  yet." 

"I  have  heard  them  for  an  hour,"  replied  Jack. 

They  listened.  Far  to  the  south  the  steady  intona 
tion  of  the  cannon  vibrated,  a  vague  sustained  ru 
mour,  no  louder,  no  lower,  always  the  same  monoto 
nous  measure,  flowing  like  the  harmony  of  flowing 
water,  passionless,  changeless,  interminable. 

"  Along  the  Meuse  ?"  asked  Jack,  at  last. 

"Yes." 

"Sedan?" 

"Yes,  Sedan." 

The  slow  convoy  was  passing  now ;  the  creak  of 
wheel  and  the  harsh  scrape  of  axle  and  spring  grated 
in  their  ears;  the  wind  changed;  the  murmur  of  the 
cannonade  was  blotted  out  in  the  trample  of  hoofs, 
the  thud  of  marching  infantry. 

Jack  swung  his  horse's  head  and  drove  out  acrosa 


320  LORKAINE ! 

the  boundary  into  the  French  road.  On  every  side 
crowded  the  teams,  where  the  low  mutter  of  the 
wounded  rose  from  the  foul  straw ;  on  every  side 
pressed  the  red-legged  infantry,  rifles  en  bandouliere, 
shrunken,  faded  caps  pushed  back  from  thin,  sick 
faces. 

"My  soldiers!"  murmured  Lorraine,  sitting  up 
straight.  "  Oh,  the  pity  of  it !— the  pity  \" 

An  officer  passed,  followed  by  a  bugler.  He  glanced 
vacantly  at  Jack,  then  at  Lorraine.  Another  officer 
came  by,  leading  his  patient,  bleeding  horse,  over 
which  was  flung  the  dusty  body  of  a  brother  soldier. 

The  long  convoy  was  moving  more  swiftly  now ;  the 
air  trembled  with  the  cries  of  the  mangled  or  the  hoarse 
groans  of  the  dying.  A  Sister  of  Mercy — her  frail  arm 
in  a  sling — crept  on  her  knees  among  the  wounded 
lying  in  a  straw-filled  cart.  Over  all,  louder,  deeper, 
dominating  the  confusion  of  the  horses  and  the  tramp 
of  men,  rolled  the  cannonade.  The  pulsating  air, 
deep-laden  with  the  monstrous  waves  of  sound,  seemed 
to  beat  in  Lorraine's  face — the  throbbing  of  her  heart 
ceased  for  a  moment.  Louder,  louder,  nearer,  more 
terrible  sounded  the  thunder,  breaking  in  long,  ma 
jestic  reverberations  among  the  nearer  hills;  the  earth 
began  to  shake,  the  sky  struck  back  the  iron-throated 
echoes — sounding,  resounding,  from  horizon  to  hori 
zon. 

And  now  the  troops  around  them  were  firing  as  they 
advanced;  sheeted  mist  lashed  with  lightning  envel 
oped  the  convoy,  through  which  rang  the  tremendous 
clang  of  the  cannon.  Once  there  came  a  momentary 
break  in  the  smoke — a  gleam  of  hills,  and  a  valley 
black  with  men — a  glimpse  of  a  distant  town,  a  river 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG!  321 

—then  the  stinging  smoke  rushed  outward,  the  little 
flames  leaped  and  sank  and  played  through  the  fog. 
Broad,  level  bands  of  mist,  fringed  with  flame,  cut  the 
pasture  to  the  right ;  the  earth  rocked  with  the  stu 
pendous  cannon  shock,  the  ripping  rifle  crashes  chimed 
a  dreadful  treble. 

There  was  a  bridge  there  in  the  mist ;  an  iron  gate, 
a  heavy  wall  of  masonry,  a  glimpse  of  a  moat  below. 
The  crowded  wagons,  groaning  under  their  load  of 
death,  the  dusty  infantry,  the  officers,  the  startled 
horses,  jammed  the  bridge  to  the  parapets.  Wheels 
splintered  and  cracked,  long -lashed  whips  snapped 
and  rose,  horses  strained,  recoiled,  leaped  up,  and  fell 
scrambling  and  kicking. 

"  Open  the  gates,  for  God's  sake  I"  they  were  shout 
ing. 

A  great  shell,  moaning  in  its  flight  above  the  smoke, 
shrieked  and  plunged  headlong  among  the  wagons. 
There  came  a  glare  of  blinding  light,  a  velvety  white 
cloud,  a  roar,  and  through  the  gates,  no  longer 
choked,  rolled  the  wagon-train,  a  frantic  stampede  of 
men  and  horses.  It  caught  the  dog-cart  and  its  occu 
pants  with  it ;  it  crushed  the  horse,  seized  the  vehicle, 
and  flung  it  inside  the  gates  as  a  flood  flings  driftwood 
on  the  rocks. 

Jack  clung  to  the  reins ;  the  wretched  horse  stag 
gered  out  into  the  stony  street,  fell,  and  rolled  over 
stone-dead. 

Jack  turned  and  caught  Lorraine  in  both  arms,  and 
jumped  to  a  sidewalk  crowded  with  soldiers,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  crush  of  wagons  ground  the  dog-cart 
to  splinters  on  the  cobble-stones.  The  crowd  choked 
every  inch  of  the  pavement — women,  children,  soldiers, 

21 


322  LOBBAINE I 

shouting  out  something  that  seemed  to  move  the 
masses  to  delirium.  Jack,  his  arm  around  Lorraine, 
beat  his  way  forward  through  the  throng,  murmuring 
anxiously,  "  Are  you  hurt,  Lorraine  ?  Are  you  hurt  ?" 
And  she  replied,  faintly,  "  No,  Jack.  Oh,  what  is  it  ? 
What  is  it  ?" 

Soldiers  blocked  his  way  now,  but  he  pushed  between 
them  towards  a  cleared  space  on  a  slope  of  grass.  Up 
the  slope  he  staggered  and  out  on  to  a  stone  terrace 
above  the  crush  of  the  street.  An  officer  stood  alone 
on  the  terrace,  pulling  at  some  ropes  around  a  pole  on 
the  parapet. 

"What — what  is  that?"  stammered  Lorraine,  as  a 
white  flag  shot  up  along  the  flag-staff  and  fluttered 
drearily  over  the  wall. 

"  Lorraine  I"  cried  Jack ;  but  she  sprang  to  the  pole 
and  tore  the  ropes  free.  The  white  flag  fell  to  the 
ground. 

The  officer  turned  to  her,  his  face  whiter  than  the 
flag.  The  crowd  in  the  street  below  roared. 

"Monsieur,"  gasped  Lorraine,  "  France  is  not  con 
quered  !  That  flag  is  the  flag  of  dishonour  V 

They  stared  at  each  other  in  silence,  then  the  officer 
stepped  to  the  flag-pole  and  picked  up  the  ropes. 

"Not  that! — not  that!"  cried  Lorraine,  shudo^r- 
ing. 

(t  It  is  the  Emperor's  orders." 

The  officer  drew  the  rope  tight  —  the  white  &*g 
crawled  slowly  up  the  staff,  fluttered,  and  stopped, 

Lorraine  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands ;  the  roar 
of  the  crowd  below  was  in  her  ears. 

"  0  God  !— 0  God  !"  she  whispered. 

"  Lorraine  I"  whispered  Jack,,  both  arms  around  her, 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  FLAG  323 

Her  head  fell  forward  on  her  breast. 

Overhead  the  white  flag  caught  the  breeze  again, 
and  floated  out  over  the  ramparts  of  Sedan. 

"  By  the  Emperor's  orders,"  said  the  officer,  com 
ing  close  to  Jack. 

Then  for  the  first  time  Jack  saw  that  it  was  Georges 
Carriere  who  stood  there,  ghastly  pale,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Lorraine. 

( '  She  has  fainted,"  muttered  Jack,  lifting  her. 
f(  Georges,  is  it  all  over  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Georges,  and  he  walked  over  to  the 
flag-pole,  and  stood  there  looking  up  at  the  white  badge 
of  dishonour. 


XXX 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

DAYLIGHT  was  fading  in  the  room  where  Lorraine 
lay  in  a  stupor  so  deep  that  at  moments  the  Sister  of 
Mercy  and  the  young  military  surgeon  could  scarcely 
believe  her  alive  there  on  the  pillows. 

Jack,  his  head  on  his  arms,  stood  by  the  window, 
staring  out  vacantly  at  the  streak  of  light  in  the  west, 
against  which,  on  the  straight,  gray  ramparts,  the 
white  flag  flapped  black  against  the  dying  sun. 

Under  the  window,  in  the  muddy,  black  streets,  the 
packed  throngs  swayed  and  staggered  and  trampled 
through  the  filth,  amid  a  crush  of  camp-wagons,  artil 
lery,  ambulances,  and  crowding  squadrons  of  cavalry. 
Kiotous  line  soldiers  cried  out  "  Treason  I"  and  hissed 
their  generals  or  cursed  their  Emperor;  the  tall  cui 
rassiers  surged  by  in  silence,  sombre  faces  turned 
towards  the  west,  where  the  white  flag  flew  on  the 
ramparts.  Heavier,  denser,  more  suffocating  grew  the 
crush;  an  ambulance  broke  down,  a  caisson  smashed 
into  a  lamp-post,  a  cuirassier's  horse  slipped  in  the 
greasy  depths  of  the  filth,  pitching  its  steel-clad  rider 
to  the  pavement.  Through  the  Place  d'Alsace-Lor- 
raine,  through  the  Avenue  du  College  and  the  Place 
d'Arrnes,  passed  the  turbulent  torrent  of  men  and 
horses  and  cannon.  The  Grande  Rue  was  choked  from 


THE  TALLEY  OP  THE  SHADOW  325 

the  church  to  the  bronze  statue  in  the  Place  Turenne ; 
the  Porte  de  Paris  was  piled  with  dead,  the  Porte  de 
Balan  tottered  a  mass  of  ruins. 

The  cannonade  still  shook  the  hills  to  the  south  in 
spite  of  the  white  flag  on  the  citadel.  There  were 
white  flags,  too,  on  the  ramparts,  on  the  Port  des 
Capucins,  and  at  the  Gate  of  Paris.  An  officer,  fol 
lowed  by  a  lancer,  who  carried  a  white  pennon  on  his 
lance -point,  entered  the  street  from  the  north.  A 
dozen  soldiers  and  officers  hacked  it  off  with  their 
sabres,  crying,  "No  surrender!  no  surrender  I"  Shells 
continued  to  fall  into  the  packed  streets,  blowing  hor 
rible  gaps  in  the  masses  of  struggling  men.  The  sun 
set  in  a  crimson  blaze,  reflecting  on  window  and 
roof  and  the  bloody  waters  of  the  river.  When  at  last 
it  sank  behind  the  smoky  hills,  the  blackness  in  the 
city  was  lighted  by  lurid  flames  from  burning  houses 
and  the  swift  crimson  glare  of  Prussian  shells,  still 
plunging  into  the  town.  Through  the  crash  of  crum 
bling  walls,  the  hiss  and  explosion  of  falling  shells, 
the  awful  clamour  and  din  in  -the  streets,  the  town 
clock  struck  solemnly  six  times.  As  if  at  a  signal 
the  firing  died  away;  a  desolate  silence  fell  over  the 
city — a  silence  full  of  rumours,  of  strange  movements 
— a  stillness  pulsating  with  the  death  gasps  of  a  nation. 

Out  on  the  heights  of  La  Moncelle,  of  Daigny,  and 
Givonne  lanterns  glimmered  where  the  good  Sisters 
of  Mercy  and  the  ambulance  corps  passed  among  the 
dead  and  dying — the  thirty-five  thousand  dead  and 
dying !  The  plateau  of  Illy,  where  the  cavalry  had 
charged  again  and  again,  was  twinkling  with  thou 
sands  of  lanterns  ;  on  the  heights  of  Frenois  Prussian 
torches  swung,  signalling  victory. 

22 


326  LORRAINE  ! 

But  the  spectacle  in  the  interior  of  the  town-— a. 
town  of  nineteen  thousand  people,  into  which  now 
were  crushed  seventy  thousand  frantic  soldiers,  was 
dreadful  beyond  description.  Horror  multiplied  on 
horror.  The  two  bridges  and  the  streets  were  so 
jammed  with  horses  and  artillery  trains  that  it  seemed 
impossible  for  any  human  being  to  move  another  inch. 
In  the  glare  of  the  flames  from  the  houses  on  fire, 
in  the  middle  of  the  smoke,  horses,  cannon,  four- 
gons,  charrettes,  ambulances,  piles  of  dead  and  dying, 
formed  a  sickening  pell-mell.  In  this  chaos  starving 
soldiers,  holding  lighted  lanterns,  tore  strips  of  flesh 
from  dead  horses  lying  in  the  mud,  killed  by  the  shells. 
Arms,  broken  and  foul  with  blood  and  mud — rifles, 
pistols,  sabres,  lances,  casques,  mitrailleuses — covered 
the  pavements. 

The  gates  of  the  town  were  closed ;  the  water  in 
the  fortification  moats  reflected  the  red  light  from 
the  flames.  The  glacis  of  the  ramparts  was  covered 
by  black  masses  of  soldiers,  watching  the  placing  of  a 
cordon  of  German  sentinels  around  the  walls. 

All  public  buildings,  all  the  churches,  were  choked 
with  wounded  ;  their  blood  covered  everything.  On 
the  steps  of  the  churches  poor  wretches  sat  bandaging 
their  torn  limbs  with  strips  of  bloody  muslin. 

Strange  sounds  came  from  the  stone  walls  along  the 
street,  where  zouaves,  turcos,  and  line  soldiers,  curs 
ing  and  weeping  with  rage,  were  smashing  their  rifles 
to  pieces  rather  than  surrender  them.  Artillerymen 
were  spiking  their  guns,  some  ran  them  into  the  river, 
some  hammered  the  mitrailleuses  out  of  shape  with 
pickaxes.  The  cavalry  flung  their  sabres  into  the 
river,  the  cuirassiers  threw  away  revolvers  and  helmets. 


THE  VALLEY   OF  THE    SHADOW  327 


Everywhere  officers  were  breaking  their  swords 
cursing  the  surrender.  The  officers  of  the  74th  of  the 
Line  threw  their  sabres  and  even  their  decorations  into 
the  Meuse.  Everywhere,  too,  regiments  were  burning 
their  colours  and  destroying  their  eagles  ;  the  colonel 
of  the  52d  of  the  Line  himself  burned  his  colours  in 
the  presence  of  all  the  officers  of  the  regiment,  in  the 
centre  of  the  street.  The  88th  and  30th,  the  68th, 
the  78th,  and  74th  regiments  followed  this  example. 
"Mort  aux  Vaches  \"  howled  a  herd  of  half-crazed 
reservists,  bursting  into  the  crush.  "  Mort  aux  Prus- 
siens  !  A  la  lanterne,  Badinguet  !  Vive  la  Eepu- 
blique  I" 

Jack  turned  away  from  the  window.  The  tall 
Sister  of  Mercy  stood  beside  the  bed  where  Lor 
raine  lay. 

Jack  made  a  sign. 

"  She  is  asleep,"  murmured  the  Sister  ;  "  you  may 
come  nearer  now.  Close  the  window." 

Before  he  could  reach  the  bed  the  door  was  opened 
violently  from  without,  and  an  officer  entered  swing 
ing  a  lantern.  He  did  not  see  Lorraine  at  first,  but 
held  the  door  open,  saying  to  Jack:  "Pardon,  mon 
sieur;  this  house  is  reserved.  I  am  very  sorry  to 
trouble  you." 

Another  officer  entered,  an  old  man,  covered  to  the 
eyes  by  his  crimson  gold-brocaded  cap.  Two  more 
followed. 

"  There  is  a  sick  person  here,"  said  Jack.  "You 
cannot  have  the  intention  of  turning  her  out  !  It  is 
inhuman  —  " 

He  stopped  short,  stupefied  at  the  sight  of  the  old 
officer,  who  now  stood  bareheaded  in  the  lantern-light, 


826  LORRAINE  ! 

looking  at  the  bed  where  Lorraine  lay.  It  was  the  Em 
peror  !— her  father. 

Slowly  the  Emperor  advanced  to  the  bed,  his  dreary 
eyes  fixed  on  Lorraine's  pale  cheeks. 

In  the  silence  the  cries  from  the  street  outside  rose 
clear  and  distinct : 

"Vive  la  Republique  !    A  bas  FEmpereur  I" 

The  Emperor  spoke,  looking  straight  at  Lorraine  : 
"  Gentlemen,  we  cannot  disturb  a  woman.  Pray  find 
another  house." 

After  a  moment  the  officers  began  to  back  out,  one 
by  one,  through  the  doorway.  The  Emperor  still  stood 
by  the  bed,  his  vague,  inscrutable  eyes  fixed  on  Lor 
raine. 

Jack  moved  towards  the  bed,  trembling.  The  Em 
peror  raised  his  colourless  face. 

"  Monsieur — your  sister  ?    No — your  wife  ?" 

"  My  promised  wife,  sire,"  muttered  Jack,  cold  with 
fear. 

"A  child,"  said  the  Emperor,  softly. 

With  a  vague  gesture  he  stepped  nearer,  smoothed 
the  coverlet,  bent  closer,  and  touched  the  sleeping 
girl's  forehead  with  his  lips.  Then  he  stood  up,  gray- 
faced,  impassive. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,"  he  said,  as  though  to  himself. 
He  looked  at  Jack,  who  now  came  close  to  him,  hold 
ing  out  something  in  one  hand.  It  was  the  steel  box. 

"  For  me,  monsieur  ?"  asked  the  Emperor. 

Jack  nodded.     He  could  not  speak. 

The  Emperor  took  the  box,  still  looking  at  Jack. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Jack  spoke  : 
"  It  may  be  too  late.  It  is  a  plan  of  a  balloon — we 
brought  it  to  you  from  Lorraine — " 


THE  YALLEY  OF  THE  iHADOW  329 

The  uproar  in  the  streets  drowned  his  voice — "  Mort 
a  rEmpereur  !  A  bas  TEmpire  I" 

A  staff-officer  opened  the  door  and  peered  in ;  the 
Emperor  stepped  to  the  threshold. 

"I  thank  you — I  thank  you  both,  my  children,"  he 
said.  His  eyes  wandered  again  towards  the  bed  ;  the 
cries  in  the  street  rang  out  furiously. 

"Mort  a  rEmpereur  !" 

The  Sister  of  Mercy  was  kneeling  by  the  bed  ;  Jack 
shivered,  and  dropped  his  head. 

When  he  looked  up  the  Emperor  had  gone. 

All  night  long  he  watched  at  the  bedside,  leaning 
on  his  elbow,  one  hand  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
candle-flame.  The  Sister  of  Mercy,  white  and  worn 
with  the  duties  of  that  terrible  day,  slept  upright  in 
an  arm-chair. 

Dawn  brought  the  sad  notes  of  Prussian  trumpets 
from  the  ramparts  pealing  through  the  devastated 
city ;  at  sunrise  the  pavements  rang  and  shook  with 
the  trample  of  the  White  Cuirassiers.  A  Saxon  in 
fantry  band  burst  into  the  "  Wacht  am  Rhine  "  at  the 
Paris  Gate  ;  the  Place  Turenne  vomited  Uhlans.  Jack 
sank  down  by  the  bed,  burying  his  face  in  the  sheets. 

The  Sister  of  Mercy  rubbed  her  eyes  and  started 
up.  She  touched  Jack  on  the  shoulder. 

"I  am  going  to  be  very  ill,"  lie  said,  raising  a  face 
burning  with  fever.  "  Never  mind  me,  but  stay  with 
her." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  Sister,  gently.  "You 
must  lie  in  the  room  beyond." 

The  fever  seized  Jack  with  a  swiftness  incredible. 

"  Then — swear  it — by  the — by  the  Saviour  there — • 
there  on  your  crucifix  !"  he  muttered. 


330  LORRAINE  f 

' '  I  swear/'  she  answered,  softly. 

His  mind  wandered  a  little,  but  he  set  his  teeth 
and  rose,  staggering  to  the  table.  He  wrote  some 
thing  on  a  bit  of  paper  with  shaking  fingers. 

"  Send  for  them,"  he  said.  "  Yon  can  telegraph 
now.  They  are  in  Brussels — my  sister — my  family — " 

Then,  blinded  by  the  raging  fever,  he  made  his  way 
uncertainly  to  the  bed,  groped  for  Lorraine's  hand, 
pressed  it,  and  lay  down  at  her  feet. 

"  Call  the  surgeon  !"  he  gasped. 

And  it  was  very  many  days  before  he  said  anything 
else  with  as  much  sense  in  it. 

"God  help  them!"  cried  the  Sister  of  Mercy,  tear 
fully,  her  thin  hands  clasped  to  her  lips.  Alone  she 
guided  Jack  into  the  room  beyond. 

Outside  the  Prussian  bands  were  playing.  The  sun 
flung  a  long,  golden  beam  through  the  window  straight 
across  Lorraine's  breast. 

She  stirred,  and  murmured  in  her  sleep,  "Jack! 
Jack!  'TienstaFoy!'" 

But  Jack  was  past  hearing  now  ;  and  when,  at  sun . 
down,  the  young  surgeon  came  into  his  room  he  was 
nearly  past  all  aid. 

"Typhoid  ?"  asked  the  Sister. 

"The  Pest  I"  said  the  surgeon,  gravely. 

The  Sister  started  a  little. 

"  I  will  stay,"  she  murmured.  "  Send  this  despatch 
when  you  go  out.  Can  he  live  ?" 

They  whispered  together  a  moment,  stepping  softly 
to  the  door  of  the  room  where  Lorraine  lay. 

"  It  can't  be  helped  now,"  said  the  surgeon,  looking 
at  Lorraine ;  "  she'll  be  well  enough  by  to-morrow;  she 
must  stay  with  you.  The  chances  are  that  he  will  die." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  331 

The  trample  of  the  White  Cuirassiers  in  the  street 
outside  filled  the  room ;  the  serried  squadrons  thun 
dered  past,  steel  ringing  on  steel,  horses  neighing, 
trumpets  sounding  the  "  Royal  March."  Lorraine's 
e^es  unclosed. 
"Jack  r 

There  was  no  answer. 

Q^he  surgeon  whispered  to  the  Sister  of  Mercy : 
"  Don't  forget  to  hang  out  the  pest  flag." 

"  Jack  ]  Jack  !'*  wailed  Lorraine,  sitting  up  in  bed. 
Through  the  tangled  masses  of  her  heavy  hair,  gilded 
by  the  morning  sunshine,  her  eyes,  bright  with  fever, 
roamed  around  the  room,  startled,  despairing.  Under 
the  window  the  White  Cuirassiers  were  singing  as  they 
rode  : 

"  Flieg',  Adler,  flieg' !    Wir  sttirmen  nach, 
Em  einig  Volk  in  Waffen, 
Wir  stiirmen  nach  ob  tausendfach 
Des  Todes  Pforten  Klaffen  ! 
Und  fallen  wir,  flieg',  Adler,  flieg' ! 
Aus  unserm  Blute  machst  der  Sieg  1 

Vorwarts ! 

Flieg',  Adler,  flieg' ! 
Victoria  ! 
Victoria ! 
Mit  uns  ist  Gott  1" 

Terrified,  turning  her  head  from  side  to  side,  Lor 
raine  stretched  out  her  hands.  She  tried  to  speak, 
but  her  ears  were  filled  with  the  deep  voices  shouting 
the  splendid  battle-hymn — 

"Fly,  Eagle!  fly  ! 
With  us  is  God  !" 

She  crept  out  of  bed,  her  bare  feet  white  with 


332  LORRAINE  ! 

her  bare  arms  flushed  and  burning.  Blinded  by  the 
blaze  of  the  rising  sun,  she  felt  her  way  around  the 
room,  calling, ' '  Jack !  Jack !"  The  window  was  open ; 
she  crept  to  it.  The  street  was  a  surging,  scintillat 
ing  torrent  of  steel. 

"God  with  us!" 

The  "White  Cuirassiers  shook  their  glittering  sabres ; 
the  melancholy  trumpet's  blast  swept  skyward ;  the 
standards  flapped.  Suddenly  the  stony  street  trem 
bled  with  the  outcrash  of  drums ;  the  cuirassiers 
halted,  the  steel-mailed  squadrons  parted  right  and 
left ;  a  carriage  drove  at  a  gallop  through  the  opened 
ranks.  Lorraine  leaned  from  the  window ;  the  officer 
in  the  carriage  looked  up. 

As  the  fallen  Emperor's  eyes  met  Lorraine's,  she 
stretched  out  both  little  bare  arms  and  cried :  ' '  Vive 
la  France  !" —  and  he  was  gone  to  his  captivity,  the 
White  Cuirassiers  galloping  on  every  side. 

The  Sister  of  Mercy  opened  the  door  behind,  calling 
her. 

"He  is  dying,"  she  said.  "He  is  in  here.  Come 
quickly  \" 

Lorraine  turned  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  sweet  and 
serene,  her  whole  pale  face  transfigured. 

"  He  will  live/'  she  said.     "  I  am  here." 

"It  is  the  pest !"  muttered  the  Sister. 

Lorraine  glided  into  the  hall  and  unclosed  the  door 
of  the  silent  room. 

He  opened  his  eyes. 

"  There  is  no  death !"  she  whispered,  her  face 
against  his.  "There  is  neither  death  nor  sorrow  nor 
dying." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  333 

The  clamour  in  the  street  died  out ;  the  wind  was 
still ;  the  pest  flag  under  the  window  hung  motionless. 

He  sighed ;  his  e}^es  closed. 

She  stretched  out  beside  him,  her  body  against  his, 
her  bare  arms  around  his  neck. 

His  heart  fluttered;  stopped;  fluttered;  was  silent; 
moved  once  again;  ceased. 

"Jack!" 

Again  his  heart  stirred — or  was  it  her  own  ? 

When  the  morning  sun  broke  over  the  ramparts  of 
Sedan  she  fell  asleep  in  his  arms,  lulled  by  the  pulsa 
tions  of  his  heart. 


XXXI 

THE  PROPHECY  OF  LORRAINE 

\YHEH  the  Yicomte  and  Madame  de  Morteyn  arrived 
in  Sedan  from  Brussels  the  last  of  the  French  prison 
ers  had  been  gone  a  week ;  the  foul  city  was  swept 
clean;  the  corpse  -  choked  river  no  longer  flung  its 
dead  across  the  shallows  of  the  island  of  Glaires ;  the 
canal  was  untroubled  by  the  ghastly  freight  of  death 
that  had  collected  like  logs  on  a  boom  below  the  vil 
lage  of  Iges. 

All  day  the  tramp  of  Prussian  patrols  echoed  along 
the  stony  streets ;  all  day  the  sinister  outburst  of  the 
hoarse  Bavarian  bugles  woke  the  echoes  behind  the 
ramparts.  Red  Cross  flags  drooped  in  the  sunshine 
from  churches,  from  banks,  from  every  barrack,  every 
depot,  every  public  building.  The  pest  flags  waved 
gaily  over  the  As3^1um  and  the  little  Museum.  A  few 
appeared  along  the  Avenue  Philippoteaux,  others  still 
fluttered  on  the  Gothic  church  and  the  convent  across 
the  Viaduc  de  Torcy.  Three  miles  away  the  ruins  of 
the  village  of  Bazeilles  lay  in  the  bright  September 
sunshine.  Bavarian  soldiers  in  greasy  corvee  lumbered 
among  the  charred  chaos  searching  for  their  dead. 

The  plain  of  Illy,  the  heights  of  La  Moncelle,  Daigny, 
Givonne,  and  Frenois  were  vast  cemeteries.  Dredg 
ing  was  going  on  along  the  river,  whither  the  curious 


THE  PROPHECY  OP  LORRAINE  335 

small  boys  of  Sedan  betook  themselves  and  stayed 
from  morning  till  night  watching  the  recovering  of 
rusty  sabres,  bayonets,  rifles,  cannon,  and  often  more 
grewsome  flotsam.  It  was  probably  the  latter  that 
drew  the  small  boys  like  flies  ;  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  are  easily  glutted  with  horrors. 

The  silver  trumpets  of  the  Saxon  Riders  were  cho 
rusing  the  noon  call  from  the  Porte  de  Paris  when  a 
long  train  crept  into  the  Sedan  station  and  pulled  up 
in  the  sunshine,  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of  Hanover 
Riflemen.  One  by  one  the  passengers  passed  into  the 
station,  where  passports  were  shown  and  apathetic 
commissaires  took  charge  of  the  baggage. 

There  were  no  hacks,  no  conveyances  of  any  kind, 
so  the  tall,  white -bearded  gentleman  in  black,  who 
stood  waiting  anxiously  for  his  passport,  gave  his  arm 
to  an  old  lady,  heavily  veiled,  and  bowed  down  with 
the  sudden  age  that  great  grief  brings.  Beside  her 
walked  a  young  girl,  also  in  deep  mourning. 

A  man  on  crutches  directed  them  to  the  Place 
Turenne,  hobbling  after  them  to  murmur  his  thanks 
for  the  piece  of  silver  the  girl  slipped  into  his  hands. 

"The  number  on  the  house  is  31,"  he  repeated; 
"the  pest  flag  is  no  longer  outside." 

"  The  pest  ?"  murmured  the  old  man  under  his 
breath. 

At  that  moment  a  young  girl  came  out  of  the 
crowded  station,  looking  around  her  anxiously. 

"'Lorraine  I"  cried  the  white-haired  man. 

She  was  in  his  arms  before  he  could  move.  Ma 
dame  de  Morteyn  clung  to  her,  too,  sobbing  convul 
sively  ;  Dorothy  hid  her  face  in  her  black-edged  hand 
kerchief. 


366  LORRAINE  ! 

After  a  moment  Lorraine  stepped  back,  drying  hei 
sweet  eyes.  Dorothy  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  I — I  don't  see  why  we  should  cry,"  said  Lorraine, 
while  the  tears  ran  down  her  flushed  cheeks.  "If 
he  had  died  it  would  have  been  different." 

After  a  silence  she  said  again : 

"  You  will  see.  We  are  not  unhappy — Jack  and  I. 
Monsieur  Grahame  came  yesterday  with  Rickerl,  who 
is  doing  very  well." 

"Kickerl  here,  too  ?"  whispered  Dorothy. 

Lorraine  slipped  an  arm  through  hers,  looking  back 
at  the  old  people. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  serenely,  "  Jack  is  able  to  sit 
up."  Then  in  Dorothy's  ear  she  whispered,  "I  dare 
not  tell  them — you  must." 

"  Dare  not  tell  them—" 

"  That — that  I  married  Jack — this  morning." 

The  girls'  arms  pressed  each  other. 

German  officers  passed  and  repassed,  rigid,  super 
cilious,  staring  at  the  young  girls  with  that  half-sneer 
ing,  half-impudent,  near-sighted  gaze  peculiar  to  the 
breed.  Their  insolent  eyes,  however,  dropped  before 
the  clear,  mild  glance  of  the  old  vicomte. 

His  face  was  furrowed  by  care  and  grief,  but  he 
held  his  white  head  high  and  stepped  with  an  elas 
ticity  that  he  had  not  known  in  years.  Defeat,  dis 
aster,  sorrow,  could  not  weaken  him ;  he  was  of  the 
old  stock,  the  real  beau  -  sabreur,  a  relic  of  the  old 
regime,  that  grew  young  in  the  face  of  defeat,  that 
died  of  a  broken  heart  at  the  breath  of  dishonour. 
There  had  been  no  dishonour,  as  he  understood  it — 
there  had  been  defeat,  bitter  defeat.  That  was  part 
of  his  trade,  to  face  defeat  nobly,  courteously,  chival- 


THE  PROPHECY  OP   LORRAINE  337 

rously ;  to  bow  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  to  the  more 
skilful  adversary  who  had  disarmed  him. 

Bitterness  he  knew,  when  the  stiff  Prussian  officers 
clanked  past  along  the  sidewalk  of  this  French  city ; 
despair  he  never  dreamed  of.  As  for  dishonour — that 
is  the  cry  of  the  pack,  the  refuge  of  the  snarling  mob 
yelping  at  the  bombastic  vociferations  of  some  rnean- 
souled  demagogue  ;  and  in  Paris  there  were  many, 
jind  the  pack  howled  in  the  Eepublic  at  the  crack  of 
the  lash. 

"  Lady  Hesketh  is  here,  too,"  said  Lorraine.  "  She 
appears  to  be  a  little  reconciled  to  her  loss.  Dorothy, 
it  breaks  my  heart  to  see  Rickerl.  He  lies  in  his  room 
all  day,  silent,  ghastly  white.  He  does  not  believe 
that  Alixe — did  what  she  did — and  died  there  at  Mor- 
teyn.  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  are  here.  Jack  says  you 
must  tell  Rickerl  nothing  about  Sir  Thorald ;  nobody 
js  to  know  that — now  all  is  ended." 

"Yes,"  said  Dorothy. 

When  they  came  to  the  house,  Archibald  Grahame 
and  Lady  Hesketh  met  them  at  the  door.  Molly 
Hesketh  had  wept  a  great  deal  at  first.  She  wept 
still,  but  more  moderately. 

"  My  angel  child  !"  she  said,  taking  Dorothy  to 
her  bosom.  Grahame  took  off  his  hat. 

The  old  people  hurried  to  Jack's  room  above; 
Dorothy,  guided  by  Lorraine,  hastened  to  Rickerl; 
Archibald  Grahame  looked  genially  at  Molly  and 
said : 

"  Now  don't,  Lady  Hesketh — I  beg  you  won't.  Try 
to  be  cheerful.  We  must  find  something  to  divert 
you." 

"  I  don't  wish  to,"  said  Molly. 

22 


338  LORRAINE  ! 

"  There  is  a  band  concert  this  afternoon  in  the 
Place  Turenne,"  suggested  Grahame. 

' e  I'll  never  go/'  said  Molly  ;  "  I  haven't  anything 
fit  to  wear." 

In  the  room  above,  Madame  de  Morteyn  sat  with 
Jack's  hand  in  hers,  smiling  through  her  tears.  The 
old  vicomte  stood  beside  her,  one  arm  clasping  Lor 
raine's  slender  waist. 

<'  Children  !  children  !  wicked  ones  I"  he  repeated, 
"how  dare  you  marry  each  other  like  two  little 
heathen  ?" 

"It  comes,  my  dear,  from  your  having  married  an 
American  wife,"  said  Madame  de  Morteyn,  brushing 
away  the  tears  ;  "  they  do  those  things  in  America." 

"America!"  grumbled  the  vicomte,  perfectly  de 
lighted — "a  nice  country  for  young  savages.  Lorraine, 
you  at  least  should  have  known  better." 

"  I  did,"  said  Lorraine ;  "  I  ought  to  have  married 
Jack  long  ago." 

The  vicomte  was  speechless ;  Jack  laughed  and 
pressed  his  aunt's  hands. 

They  spoke  of  Morteyn,  of  their  hope  that  one  day 
they  might  rebuild  it.  They  spoke,  too,  of  Paris, 
cuirassed  with  steel,  flinging  defiance  to  the  German 
floods  that  rolled  towards  the  walls  from  north,  south, 
west,  and  east. 

"  There  is  no  death/'  said  Lorraine ;  <e  the  years 
renew  their  life.  We  shall  all  live.  France  will  be 
reborn." 

"There  is  no  death,"  repeated  the  old  man,  and 
kissed  her  on  the  brow. 

So  they  stood  there  in  the  sunlight,  tearless,  serene, 
moved  by  the  prophecy  of  their  child  Lorraine.  And 


THE  PROPHECY  OP  LORRAINE  339 

Lorraine  sat  beside  her  husband,  her  fathomless  bine 
eyes  dreaming  in  the  sunlight — dreaming  of  her  Prov 
ince  of  Lorraine,  of  the  Honour  of  France,  of  the 
Justice  of  God — dreaming  of  love  and  the  sweetness 
of  her  youth,  unfolding  like  a  fresh  rose  at  dawn, 
there  on  her  husband's  breast. 


THE    END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE   ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO    RETURN 
THIS   BOOK  ON   THE  DATE  DUE.      THE  PENALTY 

E  T°  5°  CENTS  ON  THE 

°N   ™E  SEVENTH 


SEP  15    1932 


8   1933 

WAV  #5  §33  1 
APR  9     1 

MAY     2  1934 


°CT  14  1137 
MAR    2    ,938 

IAR  25  mm 


1943 


OCT    17  1934 
APR    3  1936      PUN   17    8 


OCT  141936 
JAN  25  1937 


LD  21-20/«-6,'32 


Chanbers 
Lorraine  . 


MAY  8 


3019 


1M93' 

9  m 

MAY    2  1934 


APR    3    19- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


